


Happy Birthday, Lysander.

by Melanjolly



Series: Fractured. [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanjolly/pseuds/Melanjolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lysander Shepard is a third-generation colonist. His family stems from Ireland; his father is Owen, mother is Hannah, four year old sister is Mica, eighteen year old Richard is the oldest. Mindoir is a rising cornerstone in Citadel controlled space, known for it's flowing bounty of food and raw materials. However, the vicious raid of the growing colony has all but extinguished the rising star that was Mindoir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken.

**Author's Note:**

> I was first bitten by the plot spider a few weeks ago, while playing the Leviathan DLC. It's not really my favie faves of the bunch, but for some reason the idea for the story began to spread like water from a bucket with a hole in it.
> 
> I started putting the idea into words and actual sentences while playing the Citadel DLC, WHICH IS MY ALL TIME FAVIE FAVES!!! Watching my Male Shep get tender with Cortez got some juices flowing, and soon my mind was swarming with plot spiders.
> 
> The spiders laid their eggs in my frontal lobe, and this is what I have regurgitated for you, the beautious readers.
> 
> WARNING: The plot spiders are mean, some of this is kinda messed up...Like...REALLY messed up. I warned you. So...Don't get mad at me. 
> 
> Kay?

Lysander Shepard yawned widely, and stretched as far as his cramped quarters would allow. He had long finished his task of harvesting the cabbage and pumpkins, and had even taken it upon himself to help his father for a while, until the elder Shepard had regained his stubborn pride and shooed the youth away. Lysander had then taken to his sanctuary, a groove hollowed out in a cluster of Baobab trees.

The place was the ideal size, after a little expansion with a pick ax for him. He was a bit scrawny for his age of fifteen. Most of the other farm boys, like his brother, sprouted with the harvest around age thirteen. Lysander had as well, but had stopped short halfway as if someone had accidentally unplugged him. He sighed, pushing his red curls from his line of sight. He huffed angrily as the stubborn curls fell back into place. The ruby red tresses ran through his family and all the way to Earth in some land called Ireland, Lysander had heard. He looked up instinctively, and looked round for the direction the sun was falling. 'North' He thought to himself. 'Almost time for Ralph to blow the whistle.' With that, he sprang from his place and scampered across the half empty field, spotting the foreman on the other side. Ralph Slawson was a pig of a man, physically. As wide as Lysander was long, he waddled instead of walked, and gave off the aura of a man that cares more for food than his actual job. An assumption, Lysander knew, was completely false. There was nothing going on in Mindoir that Ralph himself was not aware of.

Ralph was in the fields before anyone, surveying the harvest, remained there throughout the day (which during a typical day of Mindoir was 35 C) and was the last to leave. He was a shrewd business man, and always made certain that everything and everyone was accounted for. The boy darted across the earth, bare feet lightly padding over roots and dirt, as he made his way to the man. He was inches away when Ralph called to him. "'Lo there, Ly." The youth skidded to a halt beside the man, who was still consulting his ever-present omni-tool.

"Dammit! How do you do that?" Ralph's small mouth pulled upwards to a half smirk. "Easy, you run like a drunk varren." He finally looked up, apparently satisfied with what he saw and surveyed the boy with watery blue eyes. "It doesn't help that you've been trying to frighten me at the end of every work day since you were ten." Lysander grumbled under his breath as Ralph's omni-tool binged. "End of the day count is about to begin, not that I need to remind you." He added, surveying the boy proudly over the rims of his cracked glasses. He pushed a few buttons with his sausage-like fingers, his smile growing wider. The chirp of the horn sounded across the field, and the citizens of Mindoir began their trek, first to Ralph, then to their homes. "Impressive work, as always, Ly. You harvest like a machine!" Ralph squawked happily, bouncing on his tiny feet. He laid a pudgy hand on the boy's shoulder and gave it an affectionate shake. "Well done." Lysander pawed at the dirt beneath his feet, trying not to look pleased. "Wasn't anything, really." Owen Shepard, Lysander's father had reached them. "Surpassed us all again, did he, Ralph?" The foreman nodded happily, not looking up from his omni-tool.

"That he did, Owen, that he did. I'm thinking about adding a few more heads to his workload and see how he does with a challenge, what do you think?" Owen chuckled and clapped a calloused hand on his son's shoulder. "Sounds like a fine idea, honestly. I want to see how far the boy can really go." Lysander pushed away. "I'm standing right here, ya know! I'm fine with my workload the way it is, thanks." A few more people that had gathered around Ralph joined in the laugh, recommending more outlandish numbers for the boy to work through. Lysander caught his brother Richard's eye, who winked silently at him. The boy waved back, seeing he was no linger in the conversation, and trotted off.

* * *

 

Lysander was barely in the door of his family home when the shrill cry of Mica, his little sister threatened to burst his ear drums. "No, Mommy, no! No want to, no WANT TO!" He looked around and marveled at how the little banshee-like shrieks seemed to wash over his mother, Hannah. The woman remained where she stood, in front of the stove, her waist length brown curls tied at the nape of her neck, patient emerald eyes trained to the stove. "Mommy says yes, Mica. Now go." "No, Mommy, no wanna!" "Mica." Lysander knew this argument well. Mica spent her time playing in the mud while her brothers and father worked the fields, and her mother cleaned and cooked. At the end of each day came her one and only dreaded responsibility: wash up for dinner. Mica was messy, and enjoyed it, soap was her mortal enemy. Lysander sighed and gave it a try. He let a slow, trustworthy smile glide onto his face. "Heya, Mica! Whatcha doin?" Mica's muddy face lit up as she saw her brother.

"Wy! Wy! I made wots of stuff in my town taday!" Lysander inched closer. "Yeah? Like what?" "I mada castle, ana cwoosah, ana-AHHHHH!" Lysander grabbed the child by her waist and held her at arm's length. One glance and nod from his mother, and he carried the child up the steps to the bathtub. Mica did not go quietly. " _Meaniemeaniemeaniemeaniemeaniemeanie_! You're a meanie Wy! I don't wike you anymowa!" Lysander smiled and locked the bathroom door. Later that evening, the family sat down to dinner, including squeaky-clean and heavily disgruntled Mica.

She sat in her high chair with her arms folded, face set in a mask of anger. "So I hear you've broken the harvest record again, Lysander." His mother said. Lysander schooled his face to a humble mask and pushed his potatoes around his plate. "Uhh, yeah...Ralph says he's thinking about upping my load. I hope he's kidding." Owen chuckled softly. "I doubt it; he's a sharp one, that man." He took a mouthful of steak, still laughing to himself.

"Pa's right, Ly." Richard added. "Ralph can smell an asset miles away, like pyjak to fruit. If he thinks you can do more without hurtin' yourself, he'll make it happen." Lysander frowned.

"Hard work rewarded with a heavier workload, huh? Sounds so very just." He stabbed his food. "Hard work that has been recognized and trusted." Hannah affirmed in her soft voice. "Ralph loves you, he'd never take advantage. He simply wants to see what your limits are."

"As do we all." Owen said.

"Speaking of noticing things..."

Lysander looked up and saw smiles on his family's faces. "Wha-?" Hannah stood, giggling, and danced behind him, placing her hands over his eyes.

" _Ack_! Hey, what're you-"

"Shush, boy. Hold a moment." He father interrupted, his heavy accent peeking through. There was a series of rustles and the table shook violently.

" _Richard_!" His mother sighed.

"Sorry, sorry!"

"If that scratches th' table, boyo...”

"It won't Pa, 'm sorry, okay!"

"Arg...Uncover the boy's eyes, Hannah, love." His mother's slender fingers disappeared, revealing a long box in front of him in gold paper.

" _Whoa_!" Owen shook his head, "How abou' unwrappin' it?" Richard sniggered.

"Yeah, yeah." Lysander muttered. He pulled at the paper and cried out when its contents became known. "WHOAAA!" Owen laughed, clapping Richard on the back, Mica squeaked happily, and Hannah chuckled, her hands clasped in front of her. Before him laid the components to a model version of the famed Destiny Ascension. Model ships and stations had always been his favorite pastime. He grabbed the box and leapt in the air. "Yes! This is AWESOME!" He turned to his beaming family.

"Not every day a young man turns sixteen, now is it?" His father declared. Hannah's smile was watery as she silently went forward and hugged her son. Richard raised his cup of whiskey to him and took a swig. Mica bounced in her seat. "Canni help you, Wy?" Lysander placed the box on the table and lifted his sister out of her chair, placing a kiss on her forehead. "Course ya can, Mica." She squeaked and clapped her hands happily. Hours later, Lysander and Richard began their bedtime rituals, their parents seated by the fireplace, bade them good night.

"You really think Ralph's gonna gimme more work, Rich?" Richard paused, toothbrush in hand. "Honestly, I dunno, Ly. Pa's right, he's all business...But he loves us like his own." He rinsed and spat before finishing. "He wouldn't give you more work if he thought you weren't up to it, ya know?" Lysander nodded. "Yeah..." Richard elbowed him playfully. "'Sides...I for one wanna see what your limit is...If you've even got one!" Lysander had to laugh. "Yeah, he says I work like a machine." They began their ascent to the bedroom they shared when Richard added. "Like a quarian or something."

That stopped Lysander in his tracks as he stood next to his bed and Richard climbed into his own. "Wait...Wha?" Richard sat up. "Oh come on! You can't act like you weren't thinking the same thing!" Lysander shook his head, dumbfounded. "I can...Cuz I don't know what you're talking about." Richard huffed. "Quarians are  _machines_ , man! Why else would they wear the suits? It's not like you yourself didn't know, Ly." Lysander shook his head again, this time trying to keep laughter at bay. "Sure, Rich...Whatever you say..." The lights clicked off, and Richard whispered into the darkness. "'m tellin' ya, Ly."

* * *

 

Lysander dreamed, he was in the fields again, pulling at a stubborn carrot that refused to leave the ground. He gritted his teeth, planted his feet, and tugged for all he was worth. "C'mon, you sonova..." He hissed. A raindrop fell on his brow, but the boy ignored it. For reasons unknown to him, it seemed imperative that he unearth that carrot. More rain began to fall, but something was odd about it. The sun was high in the sky, so why did everything seem so red? As the rain fell harder, Lysander realized why. He felt his heart plummet to his stomach as he raised a hand to the downpour and saw it was not rain, but blood.

Lysander sat bolt upright in his bed, chest heaving, covered in sweat. He glanced over at Richard, apparently his outburst had gone unnoticed, and his brother had not stirred, simply snorted and rolled over. Lysander gingerly removed his sheets and padded to the bathroom. On his way back, he noticed the lights downstairs were still on, shadows moving on the walls. Confused, he glanced at the clock. 3:30 AM shown through the clock on the wall. He glanced at the steps, considering going down to investigate, but decided against it. "What Mom and Pa do in their own spare time is none of my business...Oh...gross!" He hissed to himself, and went back to his room. He flinched as the door hissed open, but relaxed when Richard didn't stir.

Something was beginning to gnaw at his stomach as he climbed back in bed. Something was wrong...something Lysander couldn't put his finger on. As he closed his eyes, it came to him. Richard snored like a chainsaw. Yet the room was silent. He sat up and whispered. "Rich?" No response. Lysander crawled from his bed and tiptoed to his brother. He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, only to feel his fingers delve into something wet and soft. He instinctively jerked his hand back and croaked. "R-Rich...?" The lack of response made his skin run cold. Lysander's arm trembled violently as he activated his omni-tool. 

Fear, terror, anger, and other emotions Lysander had no name for kept him rooted to the spot as he looked down at the gaping hole that was his older brother's neck, illuminated by the orange light. Blood and thicker things coated the pillow and bed, sapphire eyes stared sightlessly at the bookcase hugging the wall. Lysander was snapped out of his revere when the door hissed open, and a batarian stood framed in the doorway, a wide smirk on his face. "Well hello there, little morsel." The batarian sang. Lysander dove out of the way as bullets poured in the spot he'd been standing in. The batarian's smirk turned to a grimace, as he strode into the room, facing Lysander, who stood trembling on the other side of his bed.

The batarian glanced at Richard's corpse. "Humph. He looked like a strong one...Coulda used him." He turned he gaze back to the boy, raising his pistol. "Ah well...suppose you'll do." He waved his gun in a manner suggesting Lysander should start walking, which the youth promptly did. They made their way to the steps in the dark, when Lysander skidded, landing awkwardly in a puddle. He slowly looked to the source of the liquid when the batarian tsked behind him. "Geoul! Hit the lights!" He called. The light on the landing shone clearly, painting a gruesome picture that Lysander knew he'd never be rid of. Mica. His little Mica. What was left of her at least. Her small head with its mounds of crimson curls lay independently from her body, which was missing an arm. The head was face down, her final expression hidden from Lysander. The door to her room hissed open, bringing in a sickly hamburger smell, causing Lysander to promptly lose his dinner over her tiny torso. 

The batarian known as Geoul laughed crudely, plucking a cigar from his mouth and leaning over to look Lysander in the face. "Something wrong, little meatling?" The batarian behind Lysander growled. "What the hell, Geoul! We're supposed to be taking these people, what are you doing in here?" Geoul scoffed. "S'not me, it's Vlad. Poor fella was hungry." He said affectionately. A blood soaked varren trotted up to Geoul, nuzzling its head against his leg. "Aww, there's my good boy!" The batarian crooned. "You enjoy your din-din? Hmm?" He laughed again when the varren went into a coughing spell and hacked up a small pink slipper. "Lookit, Shamul! The human boy is most certainly a cold one! Hasn't said a word since he lost his dinner." He kicked Lysander in the stomach, causing the boy to fall forward in his sick and sister's remains. Lysander sat up slowly, and looked at the mess he was sitting in. Everything that had numbed him at first suddenly came crashing down upon him and he screamed. He screamed over the batarian’s shouts and attempts to silence him, and launched himself at Geoul, the pair of them tumbling down the steps. They landed with Geoul beneath him, temporarily fazed by hitting his head on the floor, and Lysander looked up to see his father kneeling in a group of six batarians, all with their guns trained to his head. "PA!" He shrieked, scrambling to reach his father.

The man roared and wrestled against his restraints as the surrounding batarians subdued the boy with a shot to the leg. Lysander fell, clutching at the wound, screaming, not in pain, but anger. "Lysander." The call was quiet, almost non-existent, yet somehow, he heard it. His mother...He turned his head in the direction of the voice but his father bellowed. "Don' look, son! Please, for love of God, don' look at her!" He was silenced with a swift blow to the head. "Please...not my baby boy..." His mother's voice again. Geoul had recovered and strode angrily in her direction. Taking care to step on Lysander's ankle as he did. The boy heard the small  _pop_  before he felt the sharp pain shoot up his leg. One glance at his foot, facing the wrong way confirmed it was broken. The pain in his leg was nothing to the pain he was filled with at the sight of his mother. Hannah Shepard was lying on the kitchen table, bruises covering her arms, ankles, and neck. What was worse, there was a pool of blood growing between her legs, remains of her underwear clutched in the hand of a burly batarian, who smirked at the boy and raised the cloth to his nose, taking a long whiff.

Owen bellowed like a beast and reared again, ignoring the punches and kicks, the chords binding his arms beginning to snap. Red welts darkened and bled as the wire cut into his skin; the man was literally snapping the titanium restraints. Shamul walked past Lysander, batting the boy's pitiful attempt at grabbing him away and stood in front of Owen. "You have certain strength about you, human. I will make you suffer. I will take away the source of that strength, and then I'll kill you."  His tone was flat, emotionless, as if he were asking about the weather. Shamul shot Owen in both calves and went and between Hannah's legs. Lysander thought for a heartbreaking moment about what he thought he was about to witness, when Shamul extended a hand, and clenched it around a Viper sniper rifle. "You know what this is, don't you, boy? Say it." He ordered, face passive. Lysander shook his head, eliciting and smile from the batarian. "You're a proud one too..." While maintaining eye contact with the boy, he took the rifle and jammed it inside of Hannah, pulling blood curdling shrieks from both her and Owen. Lysander felt bile rise in his throat as he screamed "VIPER SNIPER RIFLE ITS A FUCKING VIPER SNIPER RIFLE!" Shamul's smile grew sinister as he nodded. "Good boy." He then pulled the trigger, splattering the stove and counters behind the table with blood, brains, and fragments of bone.

"H-HANNAAAAAAH!" He father wailed, falling forward to the floor sobbing heavily. Shamul extracted the rifle and handed off to one of his cohorts. Bloodstained, he walked slowly and deliberately to Owen, who was moaning like a wounded animal. Shamul snaked a hand into Owen's red curls and tugged him upwards, facing his son. "Tell your son, your only living child, that you love him." Owen's right eye was bruised and swollen shut, his left blue eye bored into his son's, emotion burning in it. He spoke slowly, "Ah, love you, boy." Lysander felt cold metal pressed against his skull, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that his end was near. Tears poured from both Owen's eyes as he mumbled shamelessly. "Nah...Nah...Not him...Not mah lad...He's mah youngest lad, you cannae-" Shamul jerked Owen's head back and hissed. "I can, and WILL do as I please, human. Understand that." He dropped Owen's head and shooed away the batarian from the boy, drawing his own weapon and training it to his head. "Boy. Tell your father you love him."

Lysander choked on his words, "I-I-I love...I love you Dad...I love you so much. More than anything." Tears flowed from both their eyes and Owen could only nod. "Say hello to your Ma, for me, will ya?" Lysander sobbed, snot and tears mingling on his face. "Yeah, I will...I promise." Shamul removed the safety from the pistol, and Lysander felt and warm resolve rise in him. He would die, but he would still be with his family. He was...content. Owen seemed to see and understand his son's change in demeanor and smiled. "Wait fer me?" Lysander nodded. "Just don't take too long, old man." The boy closed his eyes, and didn't even jump when he heard the pistol fire. He knew when he opened his eyes, he'd see his family again.

"That'll do. Move 'em out, Geoul. Tie this one up, maybe knock him out." 

Wait...what?

Lysander opened his eyes and saw his father on the ground before him, a clean hole where his right eye used to be. He looked around, confused, and was met with the butt of a gun to his head. 

Pain. Then, nothing.

 


	2. All Alone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysander Shepard has awoken on a batarian ship, bound for destinations unknown. Lots of his fellow colonists are there, but not all. Lysander is dealt his first batch of cruelty as 'property' of the batarian running the show, Shamul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my shitting geebuz, there were SOOO many errors in my last story, I just wanna die! Granted, it was mad late when I finished it, and I sooo wanted to get it up before I laid my little head down, but still. I will go back and wage war on my errors. They are errywerr!

“Hehe, yeah that was fucking hilarious! That little pig of a man, gods I hope that wasn’t an example of what the humans consider ‘fighting’.”

“You said it… Pig-Man didn’t even have a weapon. How the hell was he supposed to stop us? Har har…”

Lysander Shepard slowly and painfully came to. Aches and pains pushing away the heavy veil of weariness. Dull throbs from his broken ankle, wounded leg, and dented forehead beat in time to his pulse. Small tugs of his limbs revealed binds encircling his wrists and for reasons only known to his captors, his aching feet and ankles. His throat felt as though he’d tried to swallow a mouthful of sand, his eyes felt enormous, too big for his sockets, and his chest and stomach ached every time he inhaled.

“Ah! Look here, Shamul! The little one is awake!”

An overhead light was suddenly turned on, stabbing the boy’s puffy eyes, making him moan in pain.

“Urgh…” Was all he could make himself say. He jumped as rough fingers seized his chin and pulled upwards until his neck was craned painfully, and he was looking into the eyes of Geoul.

“Humph…A bit worse for wear.” Geoul muttered, turning the boy’s head to survey the damage. Rage gave Lysander momentarily gave Lysander enough strength to wrench away from the batarian’s grip, growling as he did. Geoul cackled, and lit a fat cigar in his mouth, “Not bad, pretty good even. This one has some fight in him.” He looked over his shoulder, “More than I can say for the rest of these sorry sacks.” Shamul glided into view, eyes on the prisoners, Lysander’s countrymen, lined against the wall opposite him. Shamul stopped in front of a stout woman whom Lysander recognized as Martha, the owner of his father’s favorite deli. ‘Father…’ He thought, as tears clouded his vision.

Shamul raised a hand to the woman, who whimpered, cringing away from him as far as she could. “Strange, isn’t it, Geoul?” The batarian stroked a finger down the woman’s battered cheek, through the silent tears rolling down her face. “We’ve been doing this for what? Thirty years? All the humans we’ve captured have been like little sheep. Like this one.” He said softly, continuing to stroke the woman’s face. “But this one,” he looked over to Lysander, who was openly glaring back, venom streaming from his eyes. He walked over to the boy, leaning forward until their foreheads were almost touching. “This one is so young, and yet so much stronger. Isn’t it strange, Geoul?” His cohort cackled again, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I think I know where this is going. Where do you want him?” Lysander paused in his glaring. He looked around at Geoul who was smirking at him, to Shamul, whose alien and poker straight face made his expression unreadable.

“What…what’re you talking about?” He croaked. Shamul stood back and pointed at a support beam in the middle of the room. “Put ‘im there.” Lysander sputtered in pain as he was hauled to his feet and marched/dragged across the room, he could make out several of his neighbor’s faces, as well as Mica’s teacher. Geoul bound him to the support pole with Lysander kneeling on the floor, pole digging into one shoulder with his feet behind him. Shamul came to stand in front of him; he stood casually, head to one side.

“You have a lot of fight in you, boy… What’s your name?” Lysander rose as much as he could and hissed through through his clenched teeth :

“Go…fuck yourself.”

There was a collective gasp from around him, but he didn’t care. All he knew since he awoke was hatred, Lysander no longer cared if he lived or died, he would not play games for his life. His life ended with a single shot of a pistol. Revenge and anger were all he knew.

Shamul threw his head back and laughed a deep belly laugh, echoed by the other batarians in the room. He looked back at the boy, wiping a purple tear from his eye. Geoul approached and toed the boy’s destroyed ankle, eliciting a yelp. “Watch who you’re talkin’ to brat-ARGH!” Lysander reared on his ruined ankle and shot out his good foot, connecting with the batarian’s leg. “You miserable little shit!” Geoul hissed, grabbing the boy’s bad foot and squeezing for all he was worth. White spots danced in Lysander’s view, he gritted his teeth in an effort to remain silent. He wasn’t going to give the bastard an inch. “Enough.” Shamul said quietly, all the while watching Lysander’s face. Geoul limped away, grumbling, as Shamul filled Lysander’s view. He knelt and leaned into the boy’s face and whispered, “You are truly above the rest, boy… I watched grown men sit in this room, crying and pleading for me to release them. Big men, strong men.” He smiled then, and his smile filled Lysander with fear, he fought to control his face. “But you won’t, will you? You won’t beg…you don’t have anything to lose anymore, your family is dead…you’re all alone.”

Shamul stroked the boy’s face. “If you ask me nicely, if you beg properly, I might just let you go…” The rage that had been extinguished by momentary fear had reignited. Lysander leaned forward and spat in the batarian’s face. A roar behind him from Geoul and a swift kick in the leg quickly followed. It wasn’t until Lysander felt the cold metal of a gun against his back did Shamul intervene. “That’s enough, Geoul.” Both Geoul and Lysander looked around, surprised. Shamul wiped the boy’s spit from his face, the sinister smile still intact. He stood and walked behind Lysander. “Enough of the games I think, eh, Geoul?” His minion gave an evil laugh. Shamul then grabbed hold of Lysander’s pants and pulled until the pooled around the young man’s feet. As realization dawned upon Lysander he shouted, kicking wildly. Two batarians approached, each grabbing a shoulder, holding the boy fast to the support beam. Shamul whistled as he stretched the boy’s buttocks, exposing his puckered hole. “Well, well…if this doesn’t look ever so inviting?” He said coyly, pawing at it. Lysander flinched and shouted again, “Get off, you son of a bitch! I’ll KILL you, you cock sucking-”

“There won’t be any cock-sucking…as of yet.” Shamul purred. Lysander screamed as a cold liquid coated his hole and the batarian slowly rubbed lubricant in and around it. The batarian then raised himself and poised himself at the boy’s entrance. “Ly…” He looked around wildly to see Mica’s teacher, Samson, the only human in the room that would meet his eyes. “Just…just put yourself somewhere else, Ly. Pretend you aren’t here, do that, and you will survive…It’s what I…” He trailed off, eyes beginning water, and dropped his gaze. Shamul grunted, the batarians laughed, and a splitting pain shot into Lysander’s body from his ass. The pain was never ending; with each slow push Lysander felt filthy, used.

_Put yourself somewhere else._

Lysander shut his eyes tight and clung to the beam.

_Not every day your young man turns sixteen!_

_Canni help you, Wy? Canni-canni?!_

_Work like a machine!_

_No wanna, Mommy no wann-_ “Oh, this one is just _divine_! If he were any tighter I’d have to-” _It doesn’t help you’ve been trying to frighten me since you ten._

 _Hard work that has been recognized and-_ “Mmmmm, I think I’m keeping this one to myself, boys. He’s much to tasty to pass around…Hehe…You all might stretch him too far, ‘specially you Shafur.”

“Aw, boss, why you gotta be like-” S _urpassed us all again, did he, Ralph? That he did, that he-_ “Almost there…almost there, sweet boy…” Lysander felt sick; Shamul’s slow pushes had gone to full throttle thrusting, pushing the boy against the beam faster and faster. He felt a sudden pop, and the pain was gone and replaced, to Lysander’s horror, by arousal. The batarian’s meat pushed and prodded at his prostate, exciting the boy’s traitorous body. “Look, there, boss! His dick is hard! I think the boy is seeing things your way, har har.” Lysander shook his head muttering to himself, “No no no no no no…” Shamul leaned forward and wrapped a hand around the boy’s cock. “Oh, yes yes yes yes yes! You may not want this, but your body knows a good time when it feels one, oh yesssss…!” The batarian came, filling Lysander with his seed, Shamul leaned back, letting his softening member fall from the boy’s channel. He patted Lysander on the back and stood, fixing himself.

He sauntered around to Lysander’s front and knelt in the boy’s face, grinning from ear to ear. “How about now, still feeling as if there’s nothing I can do to you anymore?” Lysander swallowed his fury and schooled a calm face before raising his gaze to meet the batarian’s. Shamul’s smile faltered slightly, “Hmm, not enough for you, eh? Maybe I should let Shafur have a go?” Lysander felt himself slowly losing the fight with his fear, as an enormous and savage looking batarian loomed into view. Shamul noticed the boy’s fear and chuckled again, standing up straight and rubbing his crotch absently. He spoke without looking around to the batarians, “I think I’ll be keeping this one, boys…I like him.” A deep and resounding groan sounded throughout the room, and Shamul frowned, moving to caress his pistol. “Anyone who has a problem with that, speak up by all means.” Lysander had heard the term, ‘thunderous silence’, but had never actually seen one.

The surrounding batarians remained silent, and Shamul gestured to someone behind Lysander. A human girl with one eye and a severe limp stumbled into view, handing something to Shamul and receiving a smack that sent her sprawling. “That’ll do, Sarah, get going.” Sarah stared at the floor, tears rolling from one eye, then stood, bowed, and scurried out of sight. Shamul approached Lysander, an arrogant smile decorating his face. He brandished a long rope attached to a green collar. “This one just goes so well with your eyes, don’t you think?” Shamul inquired lightly. Lysander bared his teeth,

“Touch me with that thing, and I’ll rip your arms off.” He hissed. The batarians hollered in laughter, but Shamul stood still, studying Lysander’s face. “I think if given the opportunity, little one, you’d do just that, wouldn’t you?” Lysander opened his mouth to respond; only to shout in fear when something grabbed hold of his rear. Shafur the hulking batarian was grinning at him, rubbing his monstrous cock against the boy’s naked backside through his own pants.

“He’s too feisty, lemme at him, boss…I can train him up reeeeal good for ya!” Shafur was the only one to laugh at this, and it was short lived; Shamul advanced, fury coming off of him in waves. Shafur scrambled away from the boy, muttering apologies as he went. “Sorry, boss, meant nothing by it…” The room was silent as a tomb, no one, batarian or human dared to speak. Shamul waved two batarians forward, who seized the boy to hold him still as Shamul tied the collar around his neck. Lysander hissed and struggled fruitlessly, this time to no taunts. When they stepped away, Lysander was tethered. Shamul cut the ties holding the boy to the support beam and gave a sharp pull, sending the boy coughing and gagging towards him. However, once the batarian was within strike distance, Lysander lashed out; aiming a punch at the batarian’s gut from the floor. Shamul caught the boy’s wrist and pulled the boy to stand completely on his damaged legs. Lysander opened his mouth to yell out in pain, only to be pulled into a surprisingly gentle embrace. Shamul snaked a hand under the boy’s legs and in an instant, was cradling him against his chest. Without a word to anyone, Shamul walked toward the door, the boy still in his arms.

* * *

  _Creak!_

_Creak!_

_Creak!_

“Uhh! Good _gods_ , you have to be the _tightest_ -oh my-I can’t believe how amazing you are!”

Lysander closed his eyes, wishing more than anything for it to be over. It had been almost six months since his family had been massacred, he had watched his friends and neighbors loaded up and sold off to other species with hungry looks in their eyes. Ricky, a boy he and Richard had gone to school with, had attempted to run one day in the market. He was put under Shafur’s tender care for his transgression, and still walked with a limp. Martha and Samson were dead; a batarian had decided to take the woman for the fourth consecutive time in their sleeping quarters, and Samson silently choked the batarian to death. Martha had panicked, she screamed long and loud, mind finally broken. They were both discovered and executed right then and there.

Lysander was little more than arm candy for Shamul. After the damage to his legs had been rectified, Shamul had had the boy every night, and every night Lysander came closer and closer to climaxing himself. The entire situation made him feel nauseous.

Shamul, for his part, was alarmingly attentive to the boy. Two hot meals twice a day, a best clothes to wear, and the lightest duties to perform. Lysander often overheard the batarians talking about his treatment.

_“I don’t get why Shamul is so obsessed with the boy… He's just so disobedient!”_

_“Maybe he’s just that good in bed?”_

_“Feh! Please, nobody is that good! Shamul ought to either kill the boy or have his mind scrambled if he’s so determined to make a sex toy out of him!”_

Lysander closed his eyes as he recalled Khanna, his mother’s best friend. Other than himself, she was the one who fought her captivity the hardest. In the end she was taken to ‘The Doctor’ and received some brain treatment that caused her to follow Geoul around like an obedient puppy. She only spoke, ate, and slept when Geoul allowed her. And when they were apart, she was little more than a vegetable. Shamul had threatened Lysander with the ‘Treatment’ once, when the boy had tried to take off his collar. After seeing such a strong willed woman reduced to a glorified sex doll, Lysander cooperated.

“Oh yes! I-I-I am…Uh!” Lysander knew that as a sign that Shamul was about to finish. He made himself relax, as he was once again pumped with batarian cum. He sighed and began to pull away, knowing full well his ‘Master’ was going to want to sleep, when he was turned around and laid on his back. Shamul crawled to loom above him, smiling. Dread settled at the bottom of Lysander’s stomach when he saw the smile; nothing good ever came from it. “Relax, little one. I don’t plan on hurting you.” Shamul ran a finger up the side of the boy’s semi hard cock, pulling an involuntary shiver. Lysander inwardly cursed his disloyal body, as Shamul’s smile widened. The batarian then leaned forward, and laid the softest of kisses against the boy’s lips and whispered. “Tonight, your master wants you to orgasm.” Lysander’s eyes widened and Shamul chuckled, kissing down the boy’s neck. “I haven’t been very attentive to you…Only using you for my own selfish needs, not very well and just of me, is it?” He raised himself to look the boy in the eye, “Is it?” Lysander winced as the soft grip on his cock became vice-like, and nodded vigorously. Shamul released his hold, and began pumping the boy’s cock, while kissing and biting at his neck.

“So…Tonight…Your master wants you to orgasm.”

 _'Hell.'_ Lysander thought to himself.  _'I'm really in Hell.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-read this one a few thousand times, so maybe now the errors won't be as numerous as they were before 
> 
> -covers head in shame-
> 
> ANYHOOSIES!
> 
> That was chapter two, I'm gonna try to do a weekly chapter addition based on how popular my story becomes. 
> 
> Comments are fun!
> 
> Feedback=comments, and those are a vital source of nutrition for wild Melanjollies.
> 
> roer.


	3. Pieces.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Lysander Shepard is officially waiting to die. When he isn't the glorified chew toy of the self-proclaimed batarian king, he's waiting to be used as the chew toy for the self-proclaimed batarian pirate king, trying not to think about the massacre of his family and all that he loved. HOWEVER! Light at the end of the tunnel!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed the series, this whole time I was doing it all wrong XD

“Sweet boy…come here.” Lysander Shepard jolted awake at soft calls coming from his ‘master’. Shamul the batarian pirate and his self-proclaimed owner shambled into the  bedroom they shared, drunkenly victorious from pillage, beckoning his pet for a taste. Lysander rose and went to him, tugging his collar unconsciously. Shamul shuffled to his large bed, kicking off his bloodstained boots as he went, and flopped onto the mattress, soaking it in blood and other things. Lysander wordlessly crawled from his dog bed on the floor and came to stand before the intoxicated batarian, pulling off his own tunic and shucking his pants. Shamul’s cloudy eyes filled with a male heat as they wandered over his body.

“Mm, such a lovely, sweet boy… Come! Tend to your tired master.” Without waiting for the boy to move, Shamul pulled him to the bed, laying him on the filthy mattress, and covering him in soft kisses. Shamul was already out of his trousers, his meat protruding from the top like a sturdy brown pole. The batarian moaned, tugging Lysander’s curls with one hand, circling his bruised hole with the other. “Today was a splendid day, my pet.” He mumbled between kisses, “So many resources for our ships, not to mention the mountains of credits… Your master has become an even more wealthy batarian. I may tell my men to refer to me as the Hegemony!” He moved between Lysander’s thighs, flicking the boy’s nipples as he went, pulling minute whimpers from him, and ran his precum slicked cock up and down the boy’s crack, teasing his entrance. “I will create a new order in the stars, sweet boy… I will be a King with a travelling throne!”

He gazed down at the aroused mess he’d made Lysander and pulled the boy’s arms over his head. “And you,” he growled, pushing his tip against Lysander’s hole. “Shall be my faithful pet… I think I’ll find you a nice little jeweled collar… I’ll even let you sit at my feet, curled up on a little pillow. Doesn’t that sound lovely, sweet boy?” Lysander allowed himself to hear none of the batarian’s monologue. He closed his eyes and made himself think of his family’s faces. Remember their voices, the accent that found its way out when Pa had too much to drink, or was overly emotional. Something… Anything, to keep himself from- Lysander was ripped from his memories when Shamul spun him around to his feet. Lysander stumbled, trying to find his balance as Shamul seized his hips. Lysander grabbed at the air and uttered a strangled cry when Shamul entered him. The batarian’s speed varied, one thrust followed a slow, drawn out pull, each sensation driving Lysander closer to orgasm. Shamul suckled at his neck, sliding his thick fingers up and down the boy’s cock. Lysander gripped the sheets, hating his traitorous body. The sound of wet flesh hitting flesh resonated throughout the room; each slap proceeded by Shamul’s deep growl. “Oh, sweet boy, sweet sweet boy… To have you this way is to truly be in heaven.” Shamul whispered against the back of Lysander’s head, almost lost in his curls. Lysander bit down on his lip, willing himself to remain silent, and not give an inclination to the immense arousal within him. But with Shamul’s cock hitting straight against Lysander’s prostate, he felt himself losing his private battle.

“Come on, my sweet boy… Give yourself to me; you’ve fought hard enough, don’t you think? Surrender, and lose yourself!” Lysander heard a soft tear, barely audible from the sounds of their lovemaking and Shamul’s hissed words of affection, and felt blood trickle into his mouth. He gasped, realizing he’d bitten his lip through, and then moaned long and loud as he’d unknowingly filled his lungs with the appropriate amount of air. Shamul grumbled victoriously, and increased his thrusts.

“It’s happening more and more often now, isn’t it, sweet boy?” He said happily, “Your body belies what you really want from your loving master. No need to fret, my dear pet your attentive master will service you tonight!” Shamul lifted Lysander from his feet, holding him fast against his body, letting the boy drop on his swollen length again and again, all the while hissing words of love through his clenched teeth. Lysander’s hands scrambled around, grasping at empty air, moaning and crying out helplessly as waves of pleasure crashed within him. Shamul’s thrusts became uneven, his hand was a dark blur on Lysander’s hard cock, “I’m going to feed you, sweet boy, urgh… Give you your nourishment… We’ll do it together, as one, my little pet!” Lysander cried out as he came defenselessly with Shamul, seizing the batarian’s arms; he raked his nails down the coarse flesh, head lolling back into the crook of Shamul’s shoulder as the batarian cackled. “I have you now, my fiery little pet.”

* * *

 

Lysander felt as if he were floating, voices heard, but not fully registered seemed to pass him by, each less significant as the last. He didn’t want to wake; he knew if he did, he’d awaken next to the smug self-declared king of the batarians. Self-loathing and shame swashed around his mind and body as he recalled his actions from the previous night. Lysander rolled on his side, tears falling from his shut eyes. He’d given in… He’d voluntarily given the sick son of a bitch pleasure, and he hated himself for it. Lysander squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to pull him back under.

Finally, an earth shattering _**BOOM**_ wrenched him from any pretense of rest. He sat up slowly, instinctively glancing to his right to peek at Shamul, only to find an empty space. Another crash shook the entire room and sent Lysander scrambling from the bed and into his tunic and pants. The red glow from the locked door suddenly buzzed and turned orange, a sign someone who didn’t have access was trying to get in. Lysander dove under the bed as the lock glowed green and the door hissed open. He squirmed to the middle, and watched four sets of booted feet enter. His heart raced as he observed the owners of the feet begin what looked like a search of the room. “Look at this, sir! Either this bastard owned a varren, or he’s one sick SOB…”

Humans! Lysander’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized human voices. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from making noise as another pair of feet marched into the room, toward the owner of the voice. “Good god… That’s something I won’t be able to un-see…” The feet moved around the room, discovering more and more of Shamul’s hidden caches, both weapon and otherwise. “Son of a-! Anderson! Look, this fucker has pictures!” The boots Lysander assumed were this Anderson fellow made a beeline to the man standing in front of Shamul’s ‘gallery’. Anderson’s boots stumbled away; Lysander twitched as he fell back to the mattress. “Rhodes… Is that…?” Rhodes’ voice was heavy as he responded to his commanding officer, “Yes sir… It’s a kid.” Anderson sighed, “We can only hope the poor child didn't survive too long. I’d hate to imagine the horrors he had to live through with these sick creatures.” A rumble of agreement sounded throughout the room.

Lysander was torn; he wanted more than anything to run into the arms of what he could only assume would be his saviors, but living under Shamul’s regime had been difficult on his mind. He and the other ‘Pets’ were constantly given chances to run, windows of opportunity to escape, only to be hunted down like animals, and punished harshly when returned to their ‘owners’. Freedom always seemed so close, but whenever he would reach to touch it, Lysander was burned.

His instincts did battle with one another as Anderson heaved himself to his feet, only to drop what looked like a hat. As he leaned down to grab it, Lysander was snapped back into the present and a small squawk escaped his mouth. He watched, paralyzed with fear as Anderson dropped to his knees and peered under the bed. “What the-? Hernandez!” Anderson caught a flashlight and shined it under the bed, illuminating the terrified boy. “The boy! The one from the pictures! He’s here!” Anderson called.

The bed was suddenly flipped on its side, and Lysander was fully exposed. Blood rushing past his ears deafened Lysander as he sprang to his feet and cowered against the wall. The man called Anderson was an older black man, smaller than some of the men, taller than others, all the while maintaining an aura of command. He was obviously the man in charge of the operation. Anderson raised his hands slowly, picking up on Lysander’s terror, “Easy, son… No one here is going to hurt you; we’re from the Alliance, heard of them?” Lysander scratched at the wall at his back, wishing he could phase through, all the while he kept his eyes on the floor, averted from the men surrounding him. “

We work with the human government; we came here to get rid of the batarian pirates.” Lysander gasped at that and looked at the man called Anderson. “You-you came here t-t-to…” He lowered his head in a new wave of self-loathing, living with the emotional and mentally torturous ‘masters’ had given rise to a terrible stutter. He gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders, and tried again. “Y-You came here to h-help us?” He croaked, feeling vaguely proud of himself. Anderson smiled, Lysander wanted to look away, knowing it would turn into a lecherous one before long, but made himself maintain eye contact. “That’s right, son.” He waved a hand around at the group of men and women forming the semi-circle that faced him. “I and this fine group of individuals are here to help you.” The people in the formation smiled good natured smiles or sounded positive remarks. Lysander allowed a tiny grin in return. Anderson spoke again, “What’s your name, son?”

“L-Lysander…”

“Got a last name, Lysander?”

“S-S-Shepard, L-Lysander S-Shepard…”

"Where did they steal you from, Lysander Shepard?"

"M-Mindoir..."

A soft cry broke out among the ranks of soldiers and Anderson's face turned stoic. "I saw the aftermath of Mindoir... You survived that hell?" Lysander nodded, suddenly feeling hopeful. "Th-There're others! Other s-survivors! If you h-hurry... Why are you shaking your head?" Anderson's gaze was heavy with remorse. "When we took this vessel... The batarians panicked or got angry. The scared ones gave the nozzles of their guns a kiss, the angry ones..." He shook his head, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, Lysander... The angry ones decided we couldn't free dead slaves." Lysander felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water on him. He slid to the floor, his gaze blurring. "S-So they're all...?" "Dead. I am so sorry, Lysander..." A crazy giggle escaped Lysander's mouth, causing Anderson and his soldiers to look alarmed. "They w-were freed in the end..." His pulled his knees to his chest as hot tears rolled down his face. “My name is David Anderson, and I would like to come over to where you are, if that’s alright, Lysander.” Lysander’s rising hope and courage flickered. He looked down at his feet, “Err…” Anderson seemed to understand and raised his hands again.

“No need to worry, son, I promise none of us will do anything to you.” The boy slowly lifted his gaze back to the man standing patiently with his arms above his head. “Umm… I d-don’t… W-Well… Okay… Just um… D-Do one thing for me?” Anderson nodded, still smiling, “What’s that, son?” Lysander felt a mad giggle catch in his throat, which he promptly clubbed to death before continuing. The last thing he needed was these people thinking him insane.

“P-P-P-Put your h-hands down? I d-don’t have a g-gun.”

The soldiers laughed at that, Lysander found he was laughing with them, pushing back the fear that always followed a joke at the expense of someone bigger than him. Anderson chuckled and lowered his hands, “Point taken! Alright, here I come.” Anderson slowly stepped forward and stopped a yard away from Lysander and reached out a hand. “This is a sinking ship, son, what’s say you and I get out before we down with it?” Lysander broke into a full blown smile and cautiously took the outstretched hand. “Y-Yes sir.” Anderson nodded and gestured to the soldiers around them.

“Form up and move out!”


	4. Mostly Mended.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysander Shepard is a man on the edge of a rebirth. After witnessing the tragic deaths of his beloved family, he is forced into sexual slavery at the behest of a self-proclaimed batarian pirate king. The only silver lining in his servitude is being the 'Pet' of the 'king' keeps him from the clutches of the other batarians. The friends and loved ones captured with Lysander have been sold off, drugged beyond recognition, or simply killed. Lysander is a free man, what will he choose to do with his new-found freedom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well howdy! The plot spiders wouldn't let me sleep, so I decided to pacify them and churn out another chapter for you lovely little chocolate covered bunnies.
> 
> The couple pairings listed in this chapter don't apply in this particular jumble of words, this is more of a 'Where Is He Now' sorta deal.

Lysander Shepard made his way through The Inquisitor, the ridiculous name of the batarian ship he’d been confined to for the better part of two years. Shamul the batarian king had been overwhelmed by the sheer number of soldiers; he’d thrown more than half of his men at the troops, and had lost every single one of them. Lysander had stumbled out of his quarters with Anderson and his soldiers, hiding within the ranks as instructed, but he’d still been able to make out the angry batarian’s voices. “GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FILTHY CREATURES! I will never allow you fucking worms to take me! I am the Hegemony! I. AM. POWER!”

Lysander peered through the forest of bodies and saw Shamul raise his pistol to the side of his head. Roars of outrage assaulted Lysander’s ears, and he watched Shamul pull the trigger, expecting to see a satisfying river of crimson pour from the other side… But nothing happened. All four of Shamul’s eyes were round and big as dinner plates as he realized his clip was spent, and his gun was empty. He screamed long and loud as dozens of Alliance officers swarmed and cuffed him. He screamed and spat as he was hauled to his feet, only thing streaming faster than the blood from his nose was the curses flowing from his mouth. The group of Anderson’s soldiers thinned out as the enraged batarian was brought through their ranks; Shamul stumbled to a stop next to Lysander, who was thrust behind Anderson himself. The batarian bared an evil grin at the boy and hissed, “You and I will see each other again, sweet boy… Remember who you belong to!” Lysander clutched at Anderson’s arm; if the older man was in any physical duress, he never let it show. His expression hardened, and he hissed back. “It will be a cold day in hell when you touch this child again, you sick son a bitch. I’ll have you blown out of the nearest airlock, you hear me!” The soldier holding Shamul looked concerned, “Sir…” He started. Anderson shook his head and heaved an enormous sigh, then turned to look at Lysander. “Take a good look, son. This is the last time you will ever see this sorry excuse for a batarian.” His tone was cutting, but Lysander knew Anderson’s anger wasn’t directed at him. He slowly turned his gaze to the grinning batarian and stood a bit taller. “I hope he d-dies.” The boy croaked. Shamul threw his head back and guffawed as if Lysander had just told a great joke, pale purple tears streamed from his bottom right eye.

“You will never be rid of me, Lysander. Even in my death, your mind and body will bear my mark… Know that, sweet boy. You are an orphan and an only child thanks to me, and you will remember that whenever you look into the face of another batarian, you will-URGH!” Shamul’s monologue was interrupted by a swift blow to the lower stomach, delivered by Anderson. Three soldiers leapt forward and seized the enraged man by his arms, pulling him back as he tried with every fiber of his being to deliver another kick with his heavy boot. Lysander peered up at Anderson’s face, contorted with rage with a soft wonder. The man knew next to nothing about him as a person, but still was so willing to fight for him. Anderson huffed and sagged in his soldiers’ arms, remembering himself. He turned minutely to the massed men and women and gave a curt nod, signifying that he’d returned to his senses. The soldiers slowly released their captain, but remained close. Anderson straightened his shirt and glanced at Lysander. He spoke to his men while looking over the boy’s face, “Get his  _majesty_  out of my sight and into a pod. He can ride in stasis back to the Alliance.”

“Sir!” The soldiers saluted and dragged Shamul, the would-be king away.

Anderson’s face evened out into a polite smile and he patted Lysander’s back. “Let’s get you the hell out of here, eh, son?” Lysander felt his dry lips split as he smiled for the first time in a long time. He nodded, and felt tears begin to push at his eyes. Anderson slung an arm around his narrow shoulders in a fatherly fashion, “How old are you, Lysander?”

“17… I’ll be 18 in a few weeks…” Anderson nodded, eyes downcast. They made their way from the ship in silence; all the while Lysander couldn’t help but notice a contemplative look on Anderson’s face.

* * *

 

“Up now, strafe right, no your other right!” Lysander Shepard grumbled angrily under his breath as he leapt to what he knew to be his right to avoid a spray of Incendiary bullets. “They’re coming at you from the left, Shepard get ready!” His overconfident partner, whose name he could never truly remember, was enthusiastically guiding him through the simulated N7 training program. Shepard cursed soundly as another round pierced the wall above his head and rolled into better cover, choosing to ignore his giddy partner.

“Ah, sorry, didn’t see that one there, mate! Man, I gotta say, Shepard, you are getting really good at-Oh shit! Geth Prime, six o’ clock!”

Shepard reflexively slipped the ammo in his Vindicator to Cryo and loosed a few rounds into the metallic behemoth’s eye lights. The metal giant jerked as the frost covered its head and trickled to its shoulders. Shepard ducked back into cover and lobbed a Frag Grenade in the Prime’s direction. The satisfying  **BOOM**  and temporary flash of orange let him know the Prime was no more.

“That was AWESOME, Shepard! Jesus Christ, would ya lookit that, that stupid hunk of metal didn’t stand a chance, did he?” Lysander closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to ten. He knew the battle wasn’t over with; when it came to fighting geth, always expect reinforcements. Lysander glanced at the blacked out window facing his hiding spot, and he could almost see through it to Anderson’s ever-present critical gaze. Lysander didn’t play well with others, a trait Anderson was constantly having him work on, and he knew the older man had given him Jabber Jaws McAdoo for a partner as a means to teach him how to change that about himself. Lysander turned to look at his young partner, who was happily babbling on about how flashy and impressive he was, and wondered if Anderson just secretly hated him. Shepard raised his hand and pointed two fingers to his eyes, then used the same fingers to wave to his right; a sign he’d learned from his N7 instructor meaning peek out from cover and relay what you see. Jabber Jaws, however seemed to have missed that memo. His eyes grew wide as dinner plates as he grabbed his assault rifle and leapt from his hiding place.

 _“What the ever-loving fuck are you-!_ ”

Jabber Jaws hefted his rifle and sprayed the entire area, screaming at the top of his voice.

“COME GET SOME, YOU SONS OF BITCHES!”

Lysander hissed and glanced again at the blacked window, only for it to remain black. “Not gonna say anything, eh? Huh…Fine then…” He leapt from his cover and planted his back against his partner’s, as Geth Troopers began to descend on them both. Lysander tried walking his partner toward a bit of cover that wasn’t swarming with geth, but the youth didn’t seem to understand what his small shoves meant. He simply called over his shoulder, “This is what it’s ALL about, eh, Shep!” Shepard sighed heavily and continued firing, all the while making a precise effort to shoulder the boy into cover. When they neared an overturned skycar, Lysander seized him by the scruff of his neck and shoved him behind it. He then dug out two Frag Grenades, tossed them both, and leapt behind the car seconds before shrapnel and waves of heat hit his back. The resulting silence gave him little reassurance, as geth had the capacity to be very quiet. Lysander peered around the edge of the skycar and nearly leapt out of his skin as his partner slapped his back and whooped.

“Wah HOO! You sure do love those bombs, doncha, Shep! How bad did we give it to those sons of bitches, eh?” Lysander pressed his head against the cold metal and tried counting to one hundred.

Jabber Jaws jumped to his feet and waved his gun, cheering. “Look at this! These fuckers are-” His cheers were short lived as a Geth Hunter materialized behind him and shot him full in the chest. Lysander leapt to his feet, seething.

“You _idiotic-_ ”

“ **That will do, Shepard, Isles** ”

‘Isles… The idiot’s name is Isles…That’s right.' Lysander thought dully to himself.

They both looked to the blackened window as is became transparent, revealing its occupants. David Anderson, Steven Hackett, Darlene Errkhof, and a few other noteworthy members of both N7 and the Alliance came into view. Hackett looked reserved, Anderson disappointed, while Errkhof looked liable to bite someone.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, Isles? You could’ve gotten your partner killed!” Isles looked sheepish as he toed a piece of rubble at his feet. “I…um…well.” Anderson was next, “Isles, you have the capability to be an outstanding N7, but you must keep your…enthusiasm in check. And Shepard…” His serious gaze turned to Lysander, “What were you doing at the end of round four? Why weren’t you with your squad mate?” Lysander jabbed a finger in Isles’ direction, seething. “I had to find cover, sir, because this idiot got too excited when I felled a Prime with one bullet. The Troopers attacked, so I had to get to safety.”

Anderson shook his head, but it was Hackett who spoke. “Shepard, do you understand what you just said?” Lysander leaned back on one foot, head lolling to one side as he pondered. “I…I’m not sure-” Hackett stepped forward and jabbed a finger at him from behind the window.

“You have just openly stated that you chose to preserve your _own_ life at the cost of your squad mate.” Lysander stood ramrod straight, heat pooling in his cheeks. “Sir, I-”

“That is not the makings of an N7, Mr. Shepard. The lives of the few must always come before-”

“Lives of our own…” Lysander finished.

Hackett sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “The both of you have the making of outstanding N7s...but in order to get there, you will need to make some big changes.” His cold gaze shifted to Isles. “You need to realize a simulation can always become the real thing and then some. There is no room on the battlefield for showboating, and your enthusiasm constantly put your teammate’s life at risk.” He turned to glare at Lysander, who was working furiously to keep a neutral face. “And you, Shepard. I can see greatness in you, but in order to tap that potential you need to realize that everyone on your team is your responsibility. You must learn to put others before yourself.” Anderson nodded, eyes locked with Shepard’s.

“We will submit your performance to the Council. Report back at 0500 Wednesday. Dismissed.”

The window went black again, and Shepard and Isles saluted. Isles turned to talk to Shepard, goofy grin plastered on his face, but Lysander was in no mood. He’d worked for a long time to qualify for the N7 program, and he was watching it all fall to pieces at the hands of one idiot. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the simulation room without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! I always thought Anderson seemed pretty much like a father figure to Shep, and I thought this would be a good example as to why.
> 
> Lemme know what you lovely little bunnies think! The plot spiders have stopped swarming my skin for now, so I'm gonna go back to sleep.
> 
> ZZZZzzzzzzZZzZzZZzZZzzzzzZZZZzzzzZzzzzzz............


	5. Cracks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysander Shepard has arrived on Elysium, just before the bulk of the batarian attacks. As he goes about his guard duties of the capital, he reflects on the words shared between himself and his mentor, David Anderson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarro!
> 
> It's been far too long!
> 
> I honestly don't know how long it's been, I just like saying that :D
> 
> It feels like it's been forever, I've been staring at this half written story for forever...my lethal case of writer's block kept me from finishing D;
> 
> While the writer's block went to sleep in my head, I was able to put this little one together. 
> 
> I wanna write long chapters, but my short attention span and screaming children say otherwise.
> 
> I'm gonna try to put out another before the weekend is up, since my chapters are so short 
> 
> :T

“Ahh… I have to say, angry sex is the best sex with you, Shepard.” Andrew Isles hissed between clenched teeth.  Lysander Shepard shook his head and spat, “You talk too much, Corporal.” Isles chuckled harshly and dug his fingertips into the taut muscles of Shepard’s hips and upper thighs, pounding away into his ass. Isles crooned like a bull and kissed Lysander’s shoulder, “I’m gonna-I’m gonna cum… Oh god, I’m gonna pump you full of my juices, Shepard.” Lysander rolled his eyes, glad he was facing the wall and door, his expression hidden.

The soft music playing from the tiny clock radio on the crowded nightstand was drowned out by the sounds of wet flesh slapping flesh, and Isles’ hissed adorations of the state of his body. Lysander closed his eyes and willed himself to be lost in the movements and sync of their bodies, the feel of Isles’ cock filling the emptiness within him, pressing solidly against his prostate with every thrust of his hips. He let his head loll back and forth with the force of the movements, feeling his cock begin to stir, and a delicious bubble swelling in his gut. Isles threw a hand between his legs, and promptly started jacking him off as fast he could. Lysander allowed a wanton moan to escape his lips, feeling himself begin to become swept away in the force of things. “Yes…” He whispered to himself, he wanted so much to fall into the abyss and sink into the peaceful oblivion.

Unfortunately, Isles had somehow heard his whisper, over the sounds of his own voice and vicious lovemaking. He leaned forward until his stomach was against Lysander’s back and spoke, “You like that, baby? You like the feel of my cock in your sweet hole?” Lysander cursed, pushed away from him and sat cross-legged on the side of the bed, fuming.

It had been ten days since the Alliance Navy and Army had landed on Elysium, one of the oldest colonies humanity had to boast. Admiral Hackett had led Shepard’s company himself, converged with the aerial attackers, planning a strategic row of destruction to the batarian forces. Shepard and a few other companies were rotating security details, while they had a few hours to spare, Lysander had seized Isles and decided to blow off steam. A decision he was now regretting. Isles sat up and looked abased. “Sorry… I did it again didn’t I?”

Lysander huffed and shook his head, “Fucking you and being fucked by you is pretty fun, Isles. But I have one rule, don’t I?” Isles nodded demurely, eyes on the floor. “Yeah, just one rule.” Shepard stood and spun around to face him, “What’s the  _one_  rule, Isles?” Isles spoke to the floor, his ears turning red.

“Just fuck, don’t talk.”

“JUST fuck and DON’T talk! How hard is that, Isles? That one little rule?”

“’m sorry, Lysander, I didn’t think-”

“ _Shepard_. To you, it’s Shepard. And I don’t see why or how that one rule is the only one you manage to break every time we fuck.” Lysander glared at Isles, who looked the part of a child, keeping his eyes trained to the ground.

He slowly looked up at Lysander, as his eyes traveled up the man’s body; they filled with a masculine heat. When they came to a rest at his eyes, they were smoldering. He stood slowly, letting Lysander watch the muscles in his body clench and unclench. Lysander swallowed hard as he came to a stop centimeters away and whispered huskily, “How’s about we try again?” Lysander closed his eyes as Isles buried his face in the crook of his neck, one hand sliding up his back, the other sliding down and coming to a rest between his cheeks. He pressed the opening with one finger, teasing and caressing, while he kissed and suckled at Lysander’s neck. Lysander felt his body begin to stir and wrapped his arms around Isles’ neck. The corporal responded by lifting one of Lysander’s legs around his waist and pressing him against the wall. They ate at each other’s mouths; hands grabbing at one another, Lysander bit down on Isles’ lip and pulled as Isles positioned himself at his opening once more. Isles moaned and leaned in to kiss him again when the loudspeaker crooned:

“ **ATTENTION ALL TO ALLIANCE NAVY: REPORT TO SECTOR T-55 IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT: REPORT TO SECTOR T-55 IMMEDIATELY.** ”

The bulletin bored through the thick metal walls and Isles cursed soundly. Lysander growled and let his head fall back against the wall behind him. Isles released his body, stepping away to rummage through the pile of armor, his erection jutting angrily from his body. Lysander couldn’t help but chuckle at the amount of anger radiating off of the young soldier. He remained where he was released, leaning against the wall and watched Isles dress himself jerkily. When finished, Isles turned back to Shepard, the heat still swimming in his eyes.

“When we get back tonight, we’re gonna finish what we started.” Lysander swallowed thickly and could only nod in the intensity of the stare he was receiving. Isles stalked over to him and kissed him for all he was worth, tongue probing his mouth and pinning down his own. Isles released him, winked, and left the room at a jog.

After a few moments, Lysander reminded himself to breathe, gasping for air and laughed at himself before digging out his armor himself.

Lysander strode at a leisure pace through the Goryan market of Illyria’s shopping district. The batarian attacks had yet to reach this far into the colony of Elysium, and most inhabitants had yet to have seen battle. The only sign the colony itself was in any danger was the tighter than usual security details patrolling the borders of the market, and within the market itself. As Lysander surveyed the nearest salarian display of what looked like tiny insects covered in amber, he thought back to his discussion with his mentor David Anderson, before he left Alliance Command to join the fight.

* * *

 

_“Shepard, there you are.” Anderson gestured wordlessly to a chair facing him. As Lysander sat, Anderson fixed him with a pointed look. ”Shepard… Lysander… About this mission, I’m just gonna come out and say it, son. I don’t think you should go.” Lysander had guessed as much, there was a rumor that his forms and apps requesting to be part of the mission had been held up by someone important in the system. Lysander nodded, waiting for Anderson to continue. “Son, I’ve watched you grow from the pale wraith, huddled under the bed of a sex-crazed batarian to the ideal soldier.” Anderson sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed. “It’s been an honor and privilege to watch your growth, you know, Lysander, that I consider you a son to me.” Lysander couldn’t help but smile at that, “I’ve always seen you as a father, sir. Always will.” Anderson nodded the sentiment away and stood to pace around his desk. “I’m worried, Lysander…I’m concerned about your real reasons for joining in this fight.” Lysander sat up straighter in his chair and pushed out the same statement he’d had to repeat to himself a thousand times to a thousand different ears. “My only concern in this fight is protecting one of humanity’s oldest-”_

_“Cut the shit, son. I may be old, but I’m not senile.” Anderson pointed a finger at Shepard from across his desk, “Tell me the_ real _reason you opted to join in the fight.” Lysander shook his head and spoke again, “I only want to protect humanity’s-”_

 _Anderson interrupted him by stalking around his desk and lifting him by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the wall behind him. “If there’s one thing I will_ not _allow, is for you to lie to me, boy!” He gave Lysander a small shake, eyes burning with anger, and another emotion Lysander couldn’t decipher. Lysander shook his head as much as Anderson’s grip would allow. “I only want to protect-”_

_Anderson released him abruptly, and Lysander slid to the floor, eyes on Anderson’s boots. “Lie to yourself, Lysander, but don’t lie to me.”_

_“I’m not lying to you, sir. I swear I’m telling the truth.”_

_“And what about a month ago, before the information that the attacks were batarian ones were leaked to the public? Why didn’t you sign up then?”_

_There it was. Lysander had croaked his lie to everyone that demanded an explanation, and they’d bought it. He’d been a fool to believe Anderson would be no different. Anderson pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “I don’t think you meant to lie to me, Lysander.” He looked down and offered a hand which Lysander took and stood. Anderson walked away from him, shaking his head. “You’ve grown a lot, Lysander. Almost everything about you is different now…” He turned to face the young soldier, expression somber. “The paperwork has been approved; you’re going to Elysium…”_

_“But? I can’t help but feel that there’s a but…”_

_“I can’t order you to change the way you feel about batarians…But I can ask you, as a friend…Before you use the skills and weaponry you’ve been trained to, remember this: No matter how many batarians you kill, maim, or torture, you will never see your family again.”_

_Lysander felt as though a bucket of ice water had been poured in his stomach. “How_ dare _you-”_

_“The only reason you’re going to Elysium is to kill batarians, Lysander. We both know that. But no matter how many batarians you kill, none of them will be Shamul, and none of the killing will bring your family back.”_

_“Fine. I get it. Can I go now…._ sir _?”_

_Anderson had lowered his eyes, as if he could no longer look at Lysander and wordlessly gestured to the door._

* * *

 In Lysander’s heart of hearts, he’d known Anderson was right. He knew the only real he was there on Elysium, was to exact mindless revenge against the species that decimated his home world. He’d told himself and countless others empty lies about his interests in saving humanity, but Anderson was right. “Damn him…” He whispered, a sour smile spreading on his face.

“Well  _hello_  there, sir!” A salarian merchant chirped in his ear, causing Lysander to jump out of his skin. “Can I interest you in some xedno beetles? They’re a  _delicacy_  on my planet of Sur’Kesh, and I’ve heard a few humans in my time tell others about how much they favored the sweet taste.” Before Lysander could politely decline, the merchant scooped out a few of the bugs and pressed them in his hands. “Try one, try one! They’re quite delicious, I can assure you!” Lysander fixed a polite smile on his face and pressed them into the tin they were displayed in. “I’m sure they’re quite um… Delicious…But I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on them this time.” He waved away the chirping merchant and hurried away from the kiosk.

Wanting get away from the aggressive salespeople, Lysander climbed a set of stairs leading to the top of the wall surrounding the capital. Over the sides to the west, he could make out pillars of smoke and soot blowing from the same direction. He walked the perimeter, nodding to passing soldiers and waving to children playing below.

Lysander was climbing down the steps of the wall when a massive explosion sounded two feet from where he’d been standing. Before he could turn to see who or what was firing at him, sounds and cries of battle echoed in the market below him, and several kiosks were sent flying. Lysander threw on his helmet, powered up his shields, wrenched his Avenger free and leapt into the fray.

The battle had reached the capital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one will be longer, I promise!
> 
> I love writing battle scenes.
> 
> \m/


	6. Ripped Apart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Elysium, otherwise known as the Skyllian Blitz is on! Lysander Shepard has been given a small squad to hold a small village a few miles from the battle at the market place. Shepard arrives to disheartened citizens and an announcement that enemy forces are moving to converge on their location. Shepard's a Paragon at heart, but in this story the origins of it shows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII did eet! I hoped to all that was chocolaty that I could keep my promise in giving you guys two chapters in a weekend, and I did eet! I started this morning, but got distracted by the overwhelming desire to bake a cake (weird, I know, but it's a super yummy s'more cake) I scurried my happy hindquarters back upstairs and pounced on my poor laptop once more. The 'U' button is starting to give me trouble now....
> 
> I type reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally fast, so I apologize for the spelling and/or grammatical errors you guys will see, cuz I know I missed a bunch of 'em -sobs-

One after another, explosions sounded over and over from all around Lysander. He willed himself to keep calm and remember his training as he seized fleeing civilians and barked at them to run for the evac center a few miles away from the markets. Lysander ran to a group of assembled soldiers, both colonists and Alliance.

“What’s the situation?” He yelled over the bedlam. The commanding officer screamed back at him in order to be heard over the explosions.

“The batarians brought in reinforcements over night! The battle in the sky was evening out, and we were lead to believe the fight was nearly done with, then all of a sudden we’re being bombarded with chatter, and before any of our techs can decrypt anything, we’re being hit on all fronts!” He pulled up a map of Elysium, and then zoned it into the area they were gathered, He began rolling out orders, directing one or two soldiers to different sectors, and then turned to Lysander.

“Commander Shepard! You will retreat back to this district,” He pointed to a cluster of homes surrounded by a high wall. “Corporal Andrew Isles is there with a shitload of terrified civvies. You’ll go there with the rest of these guys and keep the civvies safe until other orders are given.” Lysander sprang into a salute, “Yes sir!” He barked.

The commanding officer waved five soldiers to him, and then took off running into battle with several dozen other soldiers. A young woman with violently pink hair stood in front of Lysander, “We’re ready when you are, Commander Shepard.”

Lysander nodded and gestured with his rifle before calling, “Let’s move out, people!”

* * *

Lysander forced himself to take deep, even breaths as he sprinted across a flat bit of land with his squad. He could make out the neighborhood that contained a well-stocked armory that he was assigned to protect, just a mile or so away.

He pulled out his Avenger, and wordlessly gestured for his company to follow him. They were only feet from the massive gates when an odd sound that was appropriate to a door slamming sounded behind him. Lysander turned to address it, and was met with a spray of blood and thicker things splattering against the visor of his helmet. Young, the soldier with the pink hair, was a small soupy pond of blood and meat, a trip bomb blinking in the middle. The soldiers around him cried out, and Lysander promptly barked at them. “Stand still, dammit! Unless you want to-to end up like her! Nobody. Fucking. Moves. Understand?” The shell-shocked youths nodded. “Yes…Commander.”

Lysander stared at the ground through the bloody ruin of his visor, as he carefully picked his way through the abnormal rises in the ground. He stopped in front of the gates and turned to his terrified squad, and spoke gently.

“You all saw how and where I walked?” The question was met with silent nods. “Walk, one at a time, in the same places I walked. You’ll be fine if you do that.” The soldiers carefully picked their way through the minefield, each coming to a stand beside him. When the last shell-shocked soldier was through, Lysander radioed in to the other side.

“This is Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy. My squad and I were assigned to this neighborhood, please respond.” Silence met his hail. He shook his head and tried again. “Isles! I need you to unlock the gate!” Still nothing.

“Sir? I don’t think anyone’s there…” One of his soldiers piped up from behind him. Lysander shook his head. “That wouldn’t make sense, Mason. We were assigned here twenty minutes ago.” He began to pace the length of the gate. “We’ll have to-” He was cut off by the load groan of the old gate being pulled open manually.

Three grown men strained to hold it open as Lysander’s squad scurried inside. Once the last soldier cleared the threshold, the men let go, letting the heavy gate swing shut with a rumble and boom. Lysander addressed a man walking up to them. “I’m Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy. Where’s the officer that was stationed here?” The man shook his hand, when he pulled back Lysander noticed blood painted half the man’s shirt from his right shoulder to his left side. “My name is Marcel, Thomas Marcel.” He hung his head, shaggy hair falling in his face, “I’m afraid your friend is dead, Commander Shepard. Lysander felt as if he’d been physically ripped apart for a moment, as if all of his senses had been torn from him at once. Marcel clasped a hand on his shoulder, “I know he was close to you, young man. I was the one that treated him, and he kept talking about you.” He said with a fatherly smile. Lysander responded in kind with one of his own. “How…How did…”

“How did he die?” Lysander nodded silently. He was patrolling the walls, he’d come running down when the attacks started, made sure we were all of us in our homes, and took his soldiers to the wall, to keep off the enemy troops.” He pointed to a point in the wall that looked like someone had taken a massive bite out of it. “He was there with his squad when the enemy launched what I can only assume was an enormous missile of some sort. It blew them all off of the wall and into some of the houses. We treated them all as best as we could, but…” He drifted off. Lysander nodded, and willed his heart to harden. He needed to do whatever it took to keep these people safe. He turned back to Marcel, “How many of your people are trained with weapons?” Marcel laughed humorlessly, “Maybe two out of fifty. Myself excluded.” Lysander nodded again, mind racing.  He opened his mouth to speak when the radios attached to him and his company crackled to life.

**“ATTENTION ALL TROOPS, ATTENTION ALL TROOPS! BATARIAN AIR FORCES ARE BREAKING OFF AND DESCENDING TO ELYSIUM. THE BULK OF THE SHIPS ARE HEADED FOR THE CULPEPER JUNCTION. ALL AVAILABLE GROUND TROOPS, REPORT TO CULPEPER JUNCTION. REPEAT: ALL AVAILABLE GROUND TROOPS, REPORT TO CULPEPER JUNCTION. ENEMY FORCES ARE GATHERING THERE IN STRENGTH."**

“Shitfuck!” One of Shepard’s squad squawked as the radios fizzled out.

“That’s here, Commander! The enemy is moving to come _here_!”

The young soldier’s words were met with a cry of panic and desperation throughout the entire village. Lysander glanced up at the darkening sky, making out tiny ships that were indeed moving toward them. He looked around at the terrified populace, his squad included. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, Hackett’s voice coming to his mind, The Lives of the Few… Lysander’s eyes snapped open, his mind clear, and ready. “Weapons…Armor…Armory! Is there an armory here, Marcel?” He called over the bedlam.

“Well yes, there’s one down the street there, but like I said, precious few of us know how to even hold a gun.” Lysander turned to his squad of the four remaining soldiers. “Citizens, soldiers, listen to me!” The soldiers slowly shuffled into formation, the citizens turned to face him, and Lysander stood ramrod straight and pointed at the sky.

“In a few minutes, the sky is going to open up and a shitstorm will be upon us. Now I won’t sugar coat anything, we will lose people. No way around that.” He pointed to the people standing before him, “But the amount of people we lose will be entirely up to you. You can either hide in your homes and wait to be dragged out, or you can face the coming storm with me and my soldiers, and send these sons of bitches back to the hell they crawled out of!” As his words washed over them, strong and confident, Lysander noticed the people and his soldiers standing a bit taller, eyes shining.

“There is a well-stocked armory in this village, and I for one am not going to sit by and allow the enemy to lay one finger on any of its contents. You are the rightful owners of it, and of this land, defend it! Do _not_  let these intruders take what is rightfully yours, defend it! To the last man, defend it! For your future children, defend it!” He stood on the path leading to the armory and spun around to face the men and women behind him. “This is Elysium! This is _your_ home! _FIGHT FOR IT_!” A deafening roar sounded from every mouth, hands waved in the air, feet stomped the ground as the citizens and the remaining soldiers of Lysander’s squad rallied with him.

Lysander turned and bolted to the armory, the crowd on his heels.

* * *

 

One by one, enemy ships landed all around Culpeper Junction. There had been precious little time to train all 76 inhabitants, so he’d made certain every civilian had hefty armor and stayed well away from the walls. The village was surrounded by a monstrous wall, but only had one gate. The batarian soldiers that had been there before had apparently fired upon the wall itself, to no avail. They’d planted the mines and left, looking for easier prey. They’d unfortunately forgotten to mention the mines to their fellow troops, and Lysander watched with savage satisfaction as several batarian soldiers were reduced to sprays of blood and bone.

He kept his squad with him and made certain to learn all of their names. There was Richard Mason, Jim Yo, Edgar Moreno, and Howard Clein. Sandra Young was the name of the soldier that had died in front of the gates; Lysander fingered her dog tags, promising himself to deliver them to whatever family awaited her return.

Mason was a crack shot, so he was in position with his sniper rifle, next to the outpost that the batarians had wasted no time opening fire upon. Lysander had guessed they’d target obvious strategic places, and had racked Marcel’s brain on other positions. Yo was with him, hacking into the operating systems of the trip mines, which could apparently move. He periodically pushed his cracked glasses back up the long bridge of his nose, fingers a blur on his mobile keyboard. Clein was with the civilians, some of which lay flat on the low roofs of the houses, bags and shields surrounding them. Others were in houses with now glass-less windows, guns trained on the gate which a few batarians were attempting to peel open. Mason was with a the last bits of citizens in the village in the armory.

Moreno was on point with him, crouching next to the remains of an outpost, watching the enemies’ movements and relaying them back to the villagers and soldiers below.

They all watched as a larger ship landed and a batarian general shambled into view. His voice sounded across the field that was peppered with batarian troops, “Why the hell isn’t the gate open?! What happened to Delta Squad?” The soldier he screamed at visibly quailed at the sound of his voice. His response was apparently unsatisfactory, and Moreno sniggered as he was cuffed on the side of the head.

The general regarded the wall and gate and gave an unpleasant smile. He looked pointedly at the guns hooked up to his ship, and the grins on Lysander’s and Moreno’s faces dissolved as they understood his intent. He was going to shoot the walls with guns from the ship. Lysander shook Moreno’s shoulder, “Radio it in to the others. Tell them ALL to fall back to the third defensive line. We don’t know what the blast radius on that monster is like.”

Moreno relayed the message and Lysander watched as everyone sprang into action. Yo, and Moreno leapt down the stairs and hurried the citizens down the walkway to the designated defensive line. Once Yo and Moreno gave to signal that everyone was safe, Lysander looked once more at the field, and watched the enormous ship begin to power up. “Fuck.” He sprang from his position and fell back with his troops.

Lysander had just cleared the line when the air behind him exploded with a mighty force. He forced himself to stand, feeling the blood rushing from his face at the sight of the gaping hole where the wall and two rows of houses used to be. He accepted what his eyes told him and turned to Yo.

“Those mines intact?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They mobile?”

An evil grin slipped across the young tech’s face, “Why yes, sir.”

Lysander turned and saw the ground troops begin to pour in, he gestured to Yo, who smacked a button on his keyboard with a flourish, and they all watched as hundreds of batarians were reduced to red rain. Lysander promptly turned to address his new troops, “You remember what I said about losing people. It’s going to happen, but also remember, the am-”

“The amount of people we lose depends on us, Commander.” Marcel said calmly, clutching an old Disciple. Lysander nodded and turned back to the new wave of batarians, pulling out his own gun as he did. Rounds upon rounds poured from behind him, flying into the batarians, felling some, but not all. Lysander took a deep breath, and began to open fire with a righteous yell.


	7. Jagged Edges.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Elysium is on! The batarian forces led the Alliance to believe they were in for an easy victory, sending out Trojan horses and other cannon fodder to stretch them thin, only to pull a full battalion from nowhere. Commander Shepard and what remains of his squad has been sent to protect an armory housed in a tiny neighborhood on the other side of Elysium. A job that would have been simple, had the batarians not discovered it's location almost immediately. Shepard is forced to make tough decisions and weigh difficult options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves!
> 
> Been a while, eh? I got sick... Like.... SICK. It was HORRIBLE! Tummy drama, crying babies, and heartache. All in an itsy bisty window of time.
> 
> HOWEVER! The worst is (hopefully) behind me!
> 
> I medicated, invested in Gripe Water, and now life is back to puppies barfing rainbow glitter.
> 
> Let's press on!

 “Yo! Get the rocks out of your panties and trip the bombs on the west line! Mason, the colonists are taking fire on their right flank, snipe the heavy hitters or they’re all dead!”

Lysander Shepard barked his orders to what remained of his small squad; Clein and Moreno had gone to cover a breach in the southern wall and hadn’t returned or answered their commanding officer’s hails. Lysander was forced to assume the worst and move on for the sake of the colonists. Marcel had rallied a small group of colonists to him, and together they were making excellent headway in keeping the batarian forces from overwhelming them.

Several colonists had panicked and run, only to be felled almost instantly, and it was all Lysander could do to keep everyone sane and in survival mode. The batarians had tried several different approaches in their endeavor to take them out, surrounding the small resistance group, which had resulted in their losing almost an entire fleet to Yo’s travelling bombs, another direct hit from the flagship had resulted in overheating their weapons and made the ship little more than decoration, and surrounding the high walls to scale from the outside in, but to their mounting frustration, had no success climbing the smooth exterior.

Lysander gritted his teeth and fired into a gaggle of enemy troops attempting to sneak past his group. Several batarians had tried for the armory, only to be picked off by colonists perched on the rooftops of several houses. Whether the armory was even an interest to them anymore was anybody’s guess. A punitive group of stubborn humans holding a tiny neighborhood so successfully from a horde so large seemed to have presented a personal challenge to the batarian commanding officer. He’d tried joining the fight, but had received a bullet through the arm for his trouble.

The Alliance had continuously attempted to join the fight, only to be held off by more batarian ships; Lysander knew without a doubt that he and the colonists were on their own.

He jerked as his taxed armor took a shot to the shoulder, cursed and dropped into cover behind a stack of crates. Mason spotted him and slowly made his way over, “Sir! Fuck, Shepard, are you okay?!” Lysander shook off his concern and waved a hand as his sensors screamed at him, “I’m fine, Mason! Get your ass back over there and keep an eye on the colonists!” Mason saluted and sprinted back to his former position. Lysander moved to stand and rejoin the fight, when he heard a loud POP and several screams. He spun around and saw Mason sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath his head.

An angry roar sounded from the group of colonists, and they moved as one; opening fire on a look out post that housed several batarians. Lysander stared at the young soldier, lying motionless in a spreading pool of his own blood, and felt a cold sensation sweep throughout his body. He turned away, pushed through the gaggle of colonists and faced the batarians pouring in through the hole in the wall. Lysander slowly walked across the street, and began to gun down every batarian that passed his line of vision. The enemy fell in waves, bodies collapsing into the dirt and dust. Sound and time were nothing, and as the blissful cold emptiness spread from the crown of his head to his toes, he killed every batarian before him.

His clips were spent and his weapon was screaming the overheated alarm, the sounds came roaring back, and Lysander’s consciousness was thrust to the surface. He came back to himself, his gun hanging uselessly in one hand to his side; a sea of batarian corpses littered the ground before him.

  “Holy shit…”

Lysander jerked and spun around, every colonist in the neighborhood had gathered behind him, Yo included. They all had expressions ranging from horror to blatant worship on their faces. Lysander turned slowly and made his way to Mason; he knelt by his body and snatched the dog tags from around his neck, stuffing them in his pocket. “Yo…”He said quietly. He felt and saw the young soldier flinch, “Ye-yes, sir?”

“Clein and Moreno… Any word from them?”

“Uhh… No…no, sir.”

 A young woman called out, “They didn’t make it, Commander, I’m sorry. My sister said that they were gunned down by a huge batarian…” She stopped to sniffle and wipe a tear from her eye. “They had found her, trapped in the wreckage of her house and tried to pull her free. She said the batarian came out of nowhere and just… Started shooting.”

Lysander felt himself jerk involuntarily. “Huge batarian, you say?” The girl nodded, looking a bit sick as she gazed at the sea of batarian bodies stretched out in front of the hole in the wall. “Moreno engaged the big one when he started celebrating. Gave my sister time to run.” Lysander made himself nod, feeling numb from the wave of cold that had coursed through him. “The enemy…will recover. We’ll need to fall back to the armory to make sure they don’t reach it.”

The crowd nodded and voices their agreement and quickly moved out of the way as he began to walk through them. Lysander barely registered the crowd moving to follow him. He thoughts drifted to the emptiness he’d felt when he’d killed all of those batarians. He’d found the peace to be strangely calming.

If he could tap into that vacuum of emotion again, Lysander was certain they would win.

 

* * *

 

Lysander had the civilians stack sand bags in a semi-circle facing away from the armory and had a few more perched on surrounding rooftops. Yo had precious few mobile bombs left, and Marcel had taken a bullet through his left shoulder. To say the civilians were uneasy was monumental understatement. The Alliance had been radioing every few seconds screaming for status reports, and promising gun support as soon as they were able, but Lysander had all but tuned them out.

Survival was his only goal at that moment, nothing else mattered. He stood behind the rows of men and women, pacing back and forth. There was an unnerving silence throughout the entire neighborhood; the ever-present war cries and whirs of machinery on the batarian side were all but silent. One of the men crouched behind their pathetic cover spoke in a shaky voice, “I don’t suppose… There’s a chance they…y’know… Left?”

Lysander continued to pace and silently shook his head he turned to Yo, and idea suddenly bright in his mind. “Yo… How many of those bombs do you have left?” The young soldier took a moment to take inventory, “17, Commander… Why do you ask?” Lysander turned to Marcel, who was wrapping medical tape around his shoulder. I’ve got an idea that might kill two birds with one stone.” Marcel’s eyebrows shot up, “I’m listening, Commander.” Lysander jerked his head in the direction of the wall, “My guess is that they’re getting ready to take us all out. They know our numbers, and if they’re a tiny bit as good as the Alliance kept saying they are, they’re putting together something that will take us all out at once.”

Marcel gazed at the wall, “What does the wall have to do with taking us out?”

“We’ve put too much faith in it, Marcel. All they have to do is punch a hole in it with enough firepower to disorient us, then swoop in and kill us all before the dust clears,” He said it all in a matter of fact tone, causing several of the surrounding civilians to shift uncomfortably, and Marcel to frown at the lack of delicacy.

“So what do you propose we do?” Lysander gestured to the stretch of road in front of them. “They’ll be coming in somewhere over here, I’m sure. These batarians are regrouping for a reason. I’m thinking if we get Yo’s explosives deep enough in the ground before they do so, we might stand a chance in knocking them off their feet before they can get a serious jump on us.” Marcel seemed to mull over what Lysander was saying. “You’re suggesting we dig deep enough to hide 17 bombs in less than five minutes, Commander? There’s no way!” Lysander shook his head. “Those mining probes over there,” He gestured with a wave of his hand.

“If we can get those on the surface of the ground-”

“They can do the rest of the work?” Marcel interrupted with a small smile. “It’s a crazy idea, Commander… But it’s also the only one we’ve got.” He stumbled to his feet and relayed the plan to the civilians. Within seconds, they had several volunteers.

Six men darted in a circular formation a good 50 yards away from the armory and their cover, dropping the programmed mine probes on the ground and sprinted back to the group. Once they were clear, Yo tapped his omni-tool and the tiny devices lit up and dug their way into the ground below. Marcel said a quiet prayer and cast Lysander a pointed look.

Suddenly, an ear-wrenching roar filled the air. They barely had time to reach to cover their ears when the thick wall almost 50 yards from them exploded and sent enormous chunks of metal, cement, and concrete into the houses and buildings close to it.

Every single one of the remaining batarians involved in the assault poured through the wall, led by what looked to be a moving mountain of flesh. Lysander, who had promptly crouched to shield himself from debris, straightened a tiny bit and felt his stomach hit the ground beneath his feet.

“Ahhahahahaa! There’s the little shit stain himself!” Shafur, the batarian that could _easily_ have passed as krogan strode through the hole in the wall and came to a stop 30 or so yards away from them all. A wicked grin was smeared across his fleshy face, exposing brown teeth. He waved his shotgun and cackled, “Miss me, boy? I’ve certainly missed you!”

Lysander licked his suddenly dry lips and stood straight up. Shafur laughed again. “But of course you remember _me_ ,” He cried, pounding his massive chest. “The only thing that saved your tight little holes from my pole was Shamul, remember little boy? But look! He's not here to save you anymore, is he!” He began pacing in a line in front of his armada of angry batarians while he spoke. “Oh, yes, I’m thinking once we take this pathetic excuse of a pigpen, I’ll have my men kill off these little piss ants, and take you back home for myself. I need a new pet! I'm sure I can find another little collar to with those pretty green eyes. Mmm, ho ho, yes...” He clasped his monstrous bulge with a meaty hand, licking his lips. “You should be good and loose enough for me to skewer you nice and-”

A clean shot through the center of his forehead put an end to Shafur’s perverted fantasies. A thunderous silence ensued as both sides gaped at Lysander, standing ramrod straight, assault rifle perched in one hand trained to the spot Shafur had been standing before he’d fallen, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

He turned to Yo, who was squatting behind their cover with his mouth agape. He mouthed, _“Now.”_ Yo nodded uncertainly, and pressed a few buttons. A fierce explosion wrenched the ground beneath the gathered batarians apart, Lysander ducked back into cover as their horrible screams mingled terribly with the overpowering sounds of the earth falling and reshaping beneath them. As the screams faded, the humans slowly stood and cries of happiness and astonishment rang out from within their ranks. Lysander stood and felt himself gasp at the magnitude of jagged rocks, earth, and bodies lay before them.

The entire area looked like the byproduct of an earthquake, an enormous circle of uneven ground that fell downward into a chasm of rock and more bodies. The unsupported ground had spread to the hole the batarians had made in the wall, causing it to fall in on itself, filling it back in.

The humans cried out, some danced together as Lysander and Yo climbed over their makeshift wall. The civilians on the rooftops climbed to the ground and ran to their neighbors and family members, hugging one another and laughing. Yo was smiling in spite of himself. “This… I can’t believe it…” He turned, still grinning to his Commander and extended a hand which Lysander briefly shook. “We did it! We really did, Shepard! We kicked those sorry sons of bitches’ asses!” He turned to the civilians and let out a loud whoop, which was quickly accompanied by several others, including a brazen girl, who sprinted up to him and kissed him for all she was worth.

Radios chirped to life, relaying that the batarian air forces had been decimated and reinforcements were inbound and the civilians, followed tentatively by Yo, sprang into a song.

Lysander turned, smiling from the celebration and crept to the edge of the chasm they’d created. He nearly fell over in shock as he counted at least six batarians still alive in and partially under the wreckage. Marcel limped up to him, clapping him on the back, “You, sir, are a mad man! An amazing, wonderful, insightful MAD MAN!” He trailed off, following Lysander’s line of sight to the broken batarians scattered beneath them. “Oh dear… Hmph. I’ll get a few men together and pull them out of-”

“For what?” Lysander’s tone was empty of emotion, eyes still locked on the dying batarians. Marcel shifted uneasily. “Well, Commander… They’ve been soundly defeated. And-”

“Right. They’ve been defeated. Leave them to die, we have a mess to clean up, _their_ mess to clean up. Plus, there might be more of them coming; we need to focus on-”

“I beg your pardon, _Commander_ , but just because they’ve been defeated doesn’t mean they don’t deserve-”Lysander cut him off by leaning inches into the man’s face, “What they _deserve_ is not what the argument is here, Marcel.”

“On the contrary, Shepard, it’s _exactly_ what the argument is here!” Marcel countered hotly. He stepped back and surveyed Lysander, as if he was seeing him in a new light. “We can save them.” He said quietly, barely audible over the loud song coming from the growing crowd behind them. Lysander pulled out his pistol and turned to the gaggle of injured batarians. “No. They can’t.”

“SHEPARD!” Marcel started, very clearly audible over the celebration. Several of the people, including Yo, turned to see what was going on. Yo approached carefully, picking up on the tension. “Sir? What’s going on?” Marcel spun around, looking for support. “Commander Shepard wants to kill the remaining batarians!”

“What for?” A woman called out. “They’ve been defeated, let the Alliance pick ‘em up and throw ‘em in prison.” Several people around her nodded. Another man shook his head, waving his arms, “If the situation was reversed, they’d kill us, no hesitation! Get them, before they get us!” Very few cries of agreement rang out with his.

“Please…”

The hoarse voice sounded from the bottom of the wreckage. The humans crowded around the edge of the chasm to see four out of the six survivors were pleading for their lives. Lysander leapt forward and slid down the piles of both earth and bodies to the bottom. He came to a stop in front of the batarian that had called out. He slowly raised a bloody arm toward him, “Please… We were only… Following orders… You would have done t-the same…!”

“Mercy! Please! Have mercy!”

“I don’t want to die!”

“I have children!”

“Surrender… WE SURRENDER!”

The man that had vehemently agreed with Shepard spoke with a shaky voice. “C-Commander… Maybe… Maybe we should just leave them to the Alliance!”

This time, all of the colonists, and Yo voiced their agreements. Yo called down to him, “C’mon, Commander, let the Alliance deal with them! We did a good thing here! We saved a LOT of lives! Isn’t that enough?”

Lysander gazed at all of the beseeching broken batarians at his feet. He then raised his pistol and fired it six times.

It felt like years had passed when he’d reached the top of the chasm. The batarian’s voices rang in his ears, as he clawed his way out. He stood tall, staring straight ahead as he made his way through the colonists, all of whom, parted like a curtain for him. The Alliance ships had landed just outside the walls, and Marcel was standing next to Admiral Hackett. He spun around as Lysander approached, eyes wild. “You…! You didn’t… You didn’t do it, did you?” Hackett looked from one man to the other, “Did what, Mr. Marcel?” Marcel shook his head, seized Lysander by the shoulders and shook him roughly. “They surrendered. They no longer posed a threat to us… You didn’t… You didn’t _kill_ them, did you?”

Lysander slowly but firmly prized the man’s fingers from his armor. Marcel stumbled away from him, shaking his head. “You did it, didn’t you?! You… You… MURDERER!” Hackett turned sharply to Lysander, frustration mounting. “Someone needs to explain, and they need to do it _now_.” Marcel put his head in his hands, as a few soldiers came jogging out of the village went straight to Hackett. They sprang into position, saluting, to which Hackett promptly returned, “Report.”

“Sir… The colonists report that Commander Shepard rallied them together and held off the batarian forces singlehandedly.” Hackett nodded, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Go on.” The soldier glanced at Lysander, who was standing away from them, eyes vacant. “They also reported that Commander Shepard gunned down the defeated soldiers… After they’d announced their surrender.” In an instant, Lysander felt Hackett’s sharp eyes on the back of his neck.

“Commander Shepard, attend.”

Lysander slowly walked back to Hackett, he knew he should’ve felt something about killing defenseless aliens, defenseless _anything_ , but he didn’t. All he felt was a roaring emptiness. Hackett’s eyes were blazing as they seemed to drill a hole into the bridge of Lysander’s nose. “Is it true you rallied these civilians to victory, Commander?” Lysander spoke in a level tone, “Yes sir.”

“Is it also true that you gunned down living batarians that had declared their surrender?” Lysander blinked slowly as the words describing his actions sank in. “Yes… Sir.”

Hackett sighed heavily, leaning his head into his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose. He shook his head and regained composure. “Gather what remains of your squad and get your asses on that ship, ASAP, Commander.” He jerked a thumb at the powered down dreadnought behind him. Lysander saluted and radioed Yo. The young soldier came to meet his commanding officer at a jog. He stopped to salute Hackett, and turned to follow Lysander.

“Honestly, Shepard… I don’t know what to think. On one hand, we all know they’d _never_ have spared us, but on the other, _we_ aren’t _them_... We’re supposed to be… I dunno… _Better_.” He shook his head and the two of them made their way to the ship together, leaving the colony and it’s terrified inhabitants to Hackett and his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is! Lysander Shepard, a sociopath in the making!
> 
> Gawsh, I shouldn't sound so peppy when I say that...


	8. Roaring Emptiness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysander Shepard is brought back to Alliance custody after what can only be described as a tragic miracle that was the 'Skyllian Blitz'.
> 
> The public either loves or hates the Commander for his actions, but whether any of that matters to the Commander in question is anyone's guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALLO!
> 
> Caps are fun.
> 
> Not as much fun as non-caps.
> 
> I'm sick!
> 
> Stupid tummy... Actin like it owns the place.
> 
> I'm sorry my chapters are so short, I'll make it up to you guys once this tummy drama is sorted. Once again, I PROMISE!!

_“Higher. And loosen your back-stay that tense and you’ll pull every muscle in your upper torso.” Lysander shrugged his shoulders in an awkward attempt to loosen his clenched muscles. It was one thing for David Anderson to give him the constant written and oral guides on how to properly shoot a sniper rifle with as much kickback as the Indra; it was another thing entirely for him to actually be permitted to use it._

_Anderson slowly paced around him, calculating eyes focusing on Lysander’s stance. He stopped and stood still, brow furrowed. Lysander thought he was gearing to verbally admonish him again, but was thrown for a loop when the old soldier jabbed him between his unyielding shoulder blades, causing him to topple in a heap where he stood. Lysander cursed with feeling as his over worked muscles voiced their disagreement. He glanced up at Anderson, and was met with a hearty laugh. The man doubled over, momentarily overcome, before straightening up and wiping a tear from his eye. “Ha-ha… Oh, that was rich.” He stuck out a hand and helped the boy up._

_“What the fuck was that, David!” The youth protested. Anderson shook his head, “Only what I’ve been trying to push through that thick skull of yours, boy. You are too tense! The whole reason you fell like a house of cards is that lousy form of yours! You find your footing, your center,” He said, clapping his stomach._

_“I found my center a little over a year ago, David! When are you gonna let me shoot this stupid gun?”_

_Anderson sighed and folded his arms. “When I feel like you’re actually ready. I’d love to say that you are, Sander, but you and I both know that you aren’t shooting a damned thing until I know for a fact that you can successfully shoot a gun without throwing out that shoulder of yours.” Lysander ducked away from the affectionate hand Anderson tried to place on his shoulder. “I won’t! I swear I won’t! I can do this, David! But I can’t show you that I can do it until you take off my fucking training wheels and let me try.” The older man frowned at his profanity, and sighed again, a slow smile creeping on his face._

_“Damned if I’ve ever been able to say no to that face…”_

* * *

  
“Mr. Shepard! Do I have your attention here?” Lysander jerked at the feel of a cold hand on his bare arm. He sat bolt upright in his uncomfortable metal chair, in an equally uncomfortable cold room, in what he would forever call, the most uncomfortable spot on the Citadel, in a C-Sec interrogation room.

After being ‘escorted’ back to Alliance Headquarters, he and Yo were debriefed on their mission in Elysium. The ride from the colony to Headquarters had been…scratchy. The ride from HQ to the Citadel was worse.

Yo had told the Alliance everything he’d done in the hard fight against the batarian forces. Everything from killing every batarian in sight after Mason was gunned down, to slaughtering the ‘defenseless’ batarian survivors of the aftermath of their impromptu detonation. The overwhelming numbness set in when in was confirmed that Corporal Isles was indeed dead.

The fact that he’d rallied the citizens in the small neighborhood in Elysium to defend their homes and save their loved ones had people calling him what the news declared: a War Hero. He didn’t know the significance in the upper cases, but he’d been too tired to question it.

The fact that he’d on the same coin, killed batarians that had declared their surrender had other news outlets painting him as Ruthless. Again, the caps were a mystery. Lysander willed himself away from one of his earliest memories of living with his mentor David Anderson, and back to the present.

Once Yo had described, in full detail Lysander’s actions and expression, or lack thereof, he’d been hauled into some hoity-toity shrink’s office. Once Lysander was placed in the seat, the typical questions had started. “Where you very afraid? What was going through your mind?” Once the more…difficult questioning had begun, Lysander zoned out. Questions of his childhood, his home… The systematic rape and pillage of said home and childhood. It had all been too much in such a small space of time.

“Mr. Shepard…”

“Commander.”

“Right… I can understand if this line of questioning is a bit… Tender… But you really can’t deny the facts.”

Lysander fingered the one cigarette he’d been allowed like a lover, unable to respond. The therapist sighed and pinched the bridge of his beak-like nose. Small watery blue eyes that made meeting them difficult for Lysander to do swept over his face and posture. “Batarians must be a touchy topic; I get that, Mr. Shepard. It was a legitimate concern of the Alliance when they received your paperwork. The higher ups were concerned how that devastation would affect your psyche down the line.” He frowned minutely as Lysander lit his cigarette and took a sizeable puff. He waved the smoke away from his face, no doubt knowing it was the intended target.

“Look, Mr. Shepard-”

“Commander.”

His voice was little more than a croak, he’d been silent for so long. But it was there. The therapist raised his wiry brows, and apparently, could no longer contain himself.

“Here’s the thing, _Mr. Shepard_. You’re looking at semi-dishonorable discharge for what’s happened.” He jabbed a finger at the pictures and notes decorating the surface in front of them. “You need to give me something, _anything_ to go on… Something to explain why you did what you did. Temporary insanity, I don’t know-anything! Help me help you, Mr. Shepard.”

Lysander puffed his cigarette again, exhaling even slower than before. “Listen… Whatever your name is. There’s something you need to understand… The Alliance won’t discharge me this. In fact, I’m fairly certain an award of some sort will be coming my way any day now.” He dabbed the end of cigarette against the ashtray as the jaw of the man sitting across from him hit the floor. “What the-… How could you _possibly_ … What on _earth_ would make you think that?!”

“Sir, with all due respect, you have no idea what you’re talking about. The bleeding hearts are going to bitch and moan about the dead batarians that may or may not have declared surrender, and yes, I _get_ it. I shouldn’t have killed them, but they were going to die anyway.” The therapist looked aghast and tiny bit pale as he moved to interrupt. “That doesn’t _justify-_ ”

“ _However_! Even those people are going to have to look at the facts: these were hostile invaders. Creatures that would have happily wiped that little town off the map of Elysium had my squad and I not been there. More than half of my soldiers are dead, but the people of the town are _safe_. And those,” He concluded, dabbing his cigarette, “Are the facts. Facts that even they can’t ignore.”

“You… Killed living beings in _cold blood-_ ”

“I _saved_ the lives of the humans living in that colony! It comes down to which the public will favor!”

“What does the _public_ have to do with-?”

“The Alliance will never admit it, but they have to plan this entire trial and outcome on the opinion of the people. And I can say that without a shadow of a doubt, the majority of the peoples’ votes are in _my_ favor. I know in my heart of hearts that I did the right thing.”

“What! What was the right thing?! What was the purpose of this?!” All formality forgotten, the therapist had risen to his feet and was shouting across the table, spittle landing on his notes, the pictures, and Lysander’s face. “Killing the defeated ‘hostile invaders’, or exacting revenge on the species that murdered your entire community?!”

Lysander felt as if he’d been submerged in ice water. He dropped his lit cigarette on the table, not caring that small flames had collected on the papers. The therapist knew he’d misspoken, but made no attempt to apologize. Lysander snorted and puffed his cigarette again before he spoke. “Humph…”

“Wh-what?”

“Well… It’s just that now I see what side of the vote you’re on.” The therapist visibly reacted to the words and flopped back into his chair with a thud. “That’s… I’m…” Lysander sighed and stood, “This interview is not over, Commander Shepard.”

“Hmm… Yeah, I’m thinking that it is.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

Lysander ignored him and pushed the call button next to the door. The attending guard responded, hand already trained to the pistol on his side. Lysander smirked and pushed his hands into his pockets, “I need a new interrogator.” The guard gave a slow, confused blink. “Wh-what? Why do you say that?” Lysander jerked a thumb behind him, “This guy’s political views are affecting his job performance.” The guard fumed at that, “Listen here, you little-”

“He’s right, Harvey… Get someone else.”

The therapist strode to the door, eyes trained to the spot above the guard’s head. “Better yet, tell Hackett that by my analysis… Commander Shepard is fit for trial.”

* * *

 

“Look, all I’m saying is that the Council has a right to check up on its investments.” Lysander was snapped out of his revere by the sound of Kaidan Alenko’s gentle voice arguing with some kid pilot that had apparently done something right to end up on the Normandy.

It had been six years since he’d been in the old interrogation room in C-Sec HQ on the Citadel. Two years after that, the Alliance had not only given him the revered Star of Terra for his ‘heroics’ at the Skyllian Blitz, they’d made him Executive Officer on a new ship the turians and humans had banded together to build. The sleek beauty was dubbed the _Normandy_. A strange name for a strange ship, Lysander had always thought.

He’d been informed on his way to see the ship for the first time that he would be serving under his mentor, David Anderson. Lysander had been both elated and uncomfortable with the entire thing all at once.

Lysander knew his actions, and stance on what he’d done in Elysium had never sat well with the old soldier, and hadn’t seen the man since. Their reunion, however, put to rest all of his concerns. Anderson’s smile was wide and the man had almost swept the younger soldier in for a hug before he remembered where he was.

After a cold, stern handshake with a frightening looking turian by the name of Nihlus, Lysander had taken to exploring the Normandy, while reading up on his squad’s dossiers. The enigmatic Sentinel Kaidan Alenko and one Corporal Richard Jenkins. Their destination was a fabled haven called Eden Prime; Lysander had never been, and found himself eager for the experience.

Lysander had made a personal rule about fucking and fraternizing with the crew, emotional attachment was a grave weakness, he’d decided. But something about the vocal honey that coagulated into a voice and poured from Kaidan Alenko’s mouth caused that bit of moral logic to splinter ever so slightly. Lysander sighed like a schoolgirl inwardly as he listened to the man quietly argue with Joker.

Joker was shaking his head, “I’m not saying they don’t, but this a _human_ vessel _first_.” A beautiful smile decorated Alenko’s mouth as he softly responded, “He’s only here for a test run…” Joker barked a humorless laugh, “Yeah, that’s the _official_ word!”

Lysander finally decided they’d need a tie breaker. “Gotta problem with the Council, Jeff?” He sneered, electing to forgo the pilot’s favored nickname. The boy jumped, not realizing they weren’t alone. He recovered and gave Lysander a pointed look and grumbled, “Its Joker…”

Kaidan’s smile widened and he shot back, “Y’know, I never got the nickname-you’re not that funny.” Joker rolled his eyes, cheeks flushing, “Very clever, har-har. I just don’t trust the Council’s special space cop.” He spun around a bit too quickly, judging by his immediate grimace before he turned and spoke through clenched teeth. “He tried to give me tips on how to fly my baby…”

Lysander’s snide comeback was interrupted by Anderson radioing in to the cockpit. “Shepard. You’re needed in Communications.”

“On my way now, sir.”

* * *

 

“Huh… I’d thought it’d be more…ornate?” Kaidan Alenko stood next to Lysander and the impromptu addition to their squad, Ashley Williams.

They were barely in Eden Prime for five minutes before trigger-happy Jenkins had gotten himself killed. Alenko, was momentarily taken by grief, had wanted to move the body. Lysander had been adamantly against it.

“The enemy is too close for that, Alenko. We need to remain focused.”

“But Jenkins-”

“Did his duty. You want him to be remembered? Survive the fucking mission. Want to survive the mission? Pull your head out of your sentimental ass and get _moving_.”

That had put a cold damper on Alenko’s expression. The man’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he cocked his pistol and nodded wordlessly.

After a hurried introduction to Williams, they’d all pressed through geth of all enemies, and made it to the supposedly inactive Prothean beacon.

Lysander glanced at the ugly bit of metal jutting from the ground and grunted. “Nice. Very classy, Commander.” Williams stung. Lysander turned and moved to activate his radio, “I’ll call this in to Anderson.

Williams turned and approached him, opening her mouth to add to her earlier statement, when a strangled cry wrenched through the air. The dup spun around to see Alenko flailing on the spot. As Lysander looked closer, he noticed the man was apparently being pulled _toward_ the damned beacon.

Williams was moving to intercept, but Lysander reacted without thinking. After shoving the poor woman out of his way, he sprinted to the man as fast as his legs could carry him. He wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist, and stole the tiniest of a moment to breathe in his scent in spite of himself. Without thinking, he flung Kaidan out of harm’s way, into Williams’ arms. Lysander moved to retreat as well, but found himself suspended in the air.

He barely registered the two yelling before his mind was nearly destroyed by a barrage of images: destruction, a sickly creature screaming in torment, cables, wires, fire, and devastation assaulted his mind before he had time to process any of it.

The images continued mercilessly until it was abruptly gone. The sounds and sights remained and formulated into a roaring emptiness that pulled him under.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a big fan of cutaways. Can ya tell? XD


	9. To Be Whole Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysander Shepard is in a race against Saren and time. The turian seems to be one infuriating big step ahead of him at every turn. And to make matters worse, the Alliance continuously pings the Commander for side jobs. In the midst of it all, Lysander finds himself becoming closer and closer to the reclusive Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko. Lysander devises a plan to keep just that from happening.

“So… Tell me something, Shepard.”

“Urgh… Now MIGHT not be the appropriate time, Lieutenant.”

“Well… Seeing as how we’re either going to die from the geth or your, ahem, _driving expertise_ … I’d say now would be the _ideal_ time.”

Lysander Shepard grit his teeth and braced himself as he forced the Mako to a hard left. He felt as though he’d barely begun his investigations into Saren’s whereabouts, when the Alliance had pinged him for what felt like the umpteenth time for some other bullshit mission.

Hackett had relayed intel on a gathering of geth in the Attican Traverse as he’d finally been making headway to Feros. Unable to simply refuse, Lysander had Dr. Liara T’Soni and the sexy Lieutenant Alenko. The man’s honeyed voice belied a fair amount of fear as he braced himself against the door and window.

In spite of the fact that massive amounts of bullets and missiles were raining on and around them, Lysander was surprised to feel himself harden at the sound of the man’s voice. He promptly clubbed the notion to death and attempted to focus on the task at hand.

“What is it, Alenko?”

“Ahh… Just wondering where you learned to drive… Sir.”

 Lysander felt a hysterical chuckle catch in his throat. He bit back his initial sarcastic remark and continued his wild formation to avoid fire. Liara had turned an interesting shade of greyish blue as she clung to her harness for dear life. She’d remained silent the entire mission. “Believe me, Alenko,” He choked out while mowing down a geth armature, “I can drive just fine on a normal day.”

“Well… Seeing as how we most definitely will _not_ be having any normal days anytime soon, that concerns me.” Lysander allowed himself a dry chuckle and pushed the Mako toward the dead research outpost.

* * *

 

As Liara swung from the opening that formed the doorway to the Mako, Kaidan sputtered and pointed. “Oh my god…” Lysander, who was inspecting one of the tires, spoke without turning. “Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“Commander… It’s those weird spikes again.” Lysander jerked around to see the spikes they’d discovered on Eden Prime sitting around the research outpost itself. Liara cautiously approached, “What _are_ these things?” Lysander casually drew near, fingering his pistol.

“Alliance researchers called them ‘Dragon’s Teeth’.”

“What do they do? There’s nothing on them…”

Kaidan spoke up, “From what we’ve been able to find out, they’re used to create those monsters we encountered a couple of missions back.”

Liara licked her dry lips, “You mean those husks?” Kaidan nodded.

Lysander kicked one lightly, “Only trouble is, these ones are empty.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing, Commander?” Liara chirped. Lysander pulled his shotgun loose, “Nope. Means the monsters they’re made to create are nice and well done. My guess is, they’re inside and waiting for some poor fools to make their way in.

Kaidan’s following chuckle nearly caused Lysander to swear in lust, “So what does that make us, Commander?” Lysander took a moment to thank destiny for his armor’s ability to hide his now painful erection. “The poorest fools of all. Let’s go, people!”

“Right!”

“Yes, Commander!”

* * *

 

“Where the fuck were _they_ hiding?!” Lysander fumed.

Taking out the husks had been the easiest part. But almost as soon as the last one had fallen, Lysander had had to push Liara aside to avoid her taking a rocket to the sternum. She’d recovered beautifully, and nodded her thanks before rooting six geth troopers in place with a Stasis, and blowing them all away with her pistol.

Lysander found it harder to avoid ogling Alenko, who was awash in his biotic halo of energy. The man let loose Shockwaves and Cryo Blasts so beautifully Lysander found it increasingly difficult to keep from drooling. Lysander hissed himself to composure and forced his body to channel the surprising amount of sexual energy into other outlets.

*

Once the outposts had been wiped of geth and the abominations dubbed ‘husks’, Lysander led his bedraggled team through the compound, and back to the Mako.

“Well… That was… Interesting.” Kaidan said as they picked their way through fallen geth and bloated, decaying bits of husks. Lysander found he was smiling in spite of himself, even as he skidded in an especially pulpy bit of husk.

* * *

 

After what felt like hours of wasting the Normandy’s hot water, Lysander finally decided he was as clean as he would get. He and his team had just returned from Feros and ExoGeni.

The creatures produced by the Thorian had left a bad taste in his mouth, and a sizeable hole in his armor. He walked over to one of the mirrors and ran a towel through his hair. Lysander tugged it free from his brutally short hair and found himself in a distant memory…

_“Oh, good heavens… What am I supposed to do with all this hair?” Hannah Shepard smiled as she tugged a crimson curl in Lysander’s face._

_“Bah! Chop it, love! It’ll be nothin’ but an issue!” Owen Shepard rotated his enormous feet at the ankle before resting them on the table._

_Hannah gave a gentle laugh and ran a hand through the fiery mane and sighed wistfully. “I could never bring myself to cut this beautiful head of hair.” Lysander grinned victoriously at his father who stuck his tongue out in response._

_“One day, Hannah. One day, he’s gonna get off this rock and when he comes back, won’t be nothin’ there red carpet!” Hannah clapped her slender hands on her son’s ears,_

_“Owen Shepard!”_

Owen Shepard’s guffaw resounded in Lysander’s mind as he stared at his crew cut hair. “Momma would have a fit…” He murmured, silent tears falling to the floor in spite of his best efforts. He sniffed sharply and trudged to his room for a long nap, towel still obscuring half his face. It was that dip in judgment that caused him to collide with Kaidan Alenko.

“Ah. Sorry about that, Commander.” The man mumbled. Lysander felt himself flush as he fumbled out a response, “Ah… N-no harm done, Alenko.” Kaidan’s responding smile gave Lysander the wild impulse to kiss the man then and there. A silence descended and prompted Lysander to ask a burning question, only to ask it the same time Kaidan tried to ask one of his own.

“So, Alenko-?”

“Shepard, I was wondering-?”

They both laughed easily as Lysander screamed at himself internally. The ruthless silver-tongued soldier-putty in Kaidan Alenko’s hands.

Lysander beckoned the other man to speak, and Kaidan shuffled his feet in such a way before answering that if Lysander knew him well enough, he’d have guessed the man was shy.

“Commander… I was wondering… I-If I may…” He drifted off, brown eyes trailing to the left. He visibly collected himself and met Lysander’s gaze, “Why do you bring me along on every one of your missions?” Lysander opened his mouth and shut it twice, finding it too dry to speak. Kaidan, misreading his silence for something it wasn’t, gave a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was out of line, Commander… I’m sorry…” He stood a bit straighter and moved to walk away, only to jump a mile when Lysander seized his arm before the man knew what he was doing. “S-Shepard?” Kaidan whispered, eyes full to bursting with an unknown emotion. He tugged minutely on his arm and Lysander promptly released it. Thousands of words flowed through Lysander’s mind, but nothing seemed adequate enough.

“I-I’m sorry… I just… I mean, you’re a valuable asset and um… I suppose I like the way you compliment me-I mean the _team_ the way you compliment the team. My fighting style, that is…” Lysander’s face was its own sun. He mumbled an excuse and nearly ran to his quarters.

He collapsed on his bed, groin pulsating, his body _demanding_ a release. Lysander quickly freed himself from his pants and promptly began to pump his cock as if his life depended on it. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to _feel_. It had been _so_ long since he’d allowed himself emotion He bit his bottom lip as he came violently, thoughts of Kaidan Alenko flooding his mind. Making him feel for the first time a long time.

‘When did this _start_?!’ He thought to himself. ‘When did I start fucking… _noticing_?’

Those warm, chocolate eyes, always so intent, always looking. That satin voice that seemed to pour through their shared com links during missions. The man’s near perfect physique, haloed in blue during his biotic attacks. Lysander glanced down his body at the mess he’d made of himself and punched the wall next to his bed. He _had_ to do better than this… He _had_ to regain control… If he could feel the stirrings of lust in such a way, he could feel other things… _Those_ things. Thing he’d promised he’d never pick up again. Lysander sighed as he drew up a plan to regain control.

* * *

 

Lysander’s plan to shut off his emotions had backfired spectacularly. He’d brought Kaidan on less and less missions, but found himself drawn to the man’s workspace on his downtime. He’d unintentionally struck up conversation and learned things about him.

His ‘accidental’ exposure to Eezo, his time spent at ‘Brain Camp’ and a particularly dark part of his young life when he’d taken the life of his turian instructor.

Lysander found himself empathizing with the man, and even worse: flirting.

 “Are you…flirting with me, Commander?” Kaidan inquired, a devious twinkle in his eye. Lysander answered in spite of himself, “So what if I am?” Kaidan has blushed at the statement.

They’d recently returned from Virmire, both men were the only souls awake on the ship, it being the official ‘night time’. Lysander had run into Kaidan at his work station. One look between the two was enough to convey the need to talk.

They’d flirted, laughed, flirted, lamented, and gone back to flirting again, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses between them. Kaidan yawned widely and stretched, and in doing so, knocked his glass to the floor. Lysander reached for while Kaidan did the same, bringing both men forehead to forehead, hands intertwined. Kaidan slowly met Lysander’s gaze, and Lysander felt his resolve crumble.

He bridged the gap and pressed his lips to Kaidan’s, lacing his fingers around the other man’s. Kaidan responded by sliding his free hand up Lysander’s shoulder to the back of his neck. Lysander opened Kaidan’s mouth with teeth and tongue, and pulled the man closer to him. Kaidan stumbled, falling to the floor, his momentum taking Lysander with him. They ended up on the floor, Kaidan on top of Lysander, brown eyes boring into green. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lysander minutely shook his head and gave him a questioning look, to which Kaidan responded with a nod. Kaidan climbed from Lysander’s body after a chaste kiss and tugged the man toward the Captain’s Quarters,

* * *

 

“If things don’t go well… I want you to know… Well… I’ve enjoyed serving under you…” Kaidan said softly. After presenting his findings to the Council, only to get stonewalled and grounded, Lysander and Anderson had hatched a scheme to ‘steal’ the Normandy away from the Citadel. They were making their way to Ilos, facing an uncertain future; Lysander had retreated to his quarters, only to be surprised by Kaidan.

The man had listened to Lysander criticize the Council’s decision with silent acceptance, only to quietly interject with a declaration of sorts. The frank suggestiveness of Kaidan’s statement stopped Lysander’s bitching in its tracks. He recovered well enough, “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of you serving _under_ me…” Kaidan smiled shyly. “Well… I dunno, Commander… There _was_ that night after Virmire…” Lysander stepped closer, waving a hand. “Lots of heavy petting, nobody was actually _penetrated_.”

Kaidan laughed at that, head back, shoulder shaking. “When you’re right, you’re right…” He stepped closer, both of them a hairsbreadth from one another, and whispered, “I think about you, Shepard… I think about losing you… And I just _can’t_ stand it… The galaxy would just keep going; the Reapers would still come again… But you and I… _This_ is what will never happen again… _Us_ , Shepard…” As painful as it was to interrupt the man’s monologue, Lysander was at his limit.

“Shut up and get over here. That’s an order.” Kaidan laughed again, but followed it with a kiss. Lysander wrapped his arms around the man and held him for all he was worth. He’d promised himself after the encounter with the batarians and the death of Isles that he would turn off his humanity. He would always have his species’ interests at heart, but Lysander told himself he would never allow himself to feel again. Feelings lead to relationships, relationships always ended, by blood or words, they ended.

But in that moment, with Kaidan Alenko in his arms, Lysander _felt_ something… He felt… Love. The need to be whole again.

Lysander trailed his hands up Kaidan's hips, fingertips lightly caressing. He swallowed Kaidan's soft moans and pulled the man's shirt from the waistband, over his head. Kaidan responded by latching on to his neck and leaving a slow, wet line of kisses from his jugular to the man's ear lobe. Lysander pulled open Kaidan's pants, allowing the fabric to pool at his feet. Lysander gently tipped his nude lover to the bed, pulling off his own shirt and crawling over his torso, coming to stop and worry at Kaidan's puckered nipples. Kaidan let loose a wanton moan and jerked Lysander free of his own pants, which he promptly discarded along with both of their boots.

Lysander then licked a line from Kaidan's inner thigh to the tip of his chin, sliding a hand beneath his leg. Once they were close enough, Kaidan seized Lysander's head and kissed him passionately, tongues intertwining and cocks sliding against one another, precum making both their groins slick. Lysander was so entrenched with their fierce kiss, he nearly leapt out of his skin when something tapped his shoulder. 

"What the fuck?!" Kaidan laughed himself to tears before he could speak. A small bottle of lube, apparently forgotten in Kaidan's pocket was floating parallel with Lysander's shoulder. "Before we get too far, y'know?"

Lysander cursed quietly, but nodded. "Yeah... Good thinking." Lysander gently took the bottle from the air, and spread the liquid both on himself and at Kaidan's entrance. The man shifted minutely at the sensation, but his smile remained in place. Eyes level, Lysander lifted Kaidan's leg to his hip, positioned himself accordingly, and slowly pushed.

Kaidan flinched and dug his nails into Lysander's back and neck, "I can... I can stop, Kai-" 

"Don't you dare!" Lysander started at the amount of bestial anger in Kaidan's eyes, and pushed his way in until he was completely sheathed. Lysander drew his hips back, and pushed them forward again, faster this time, with a small sigh. Kaidan's body moved with his, eyes almost tethered. He gasped at the intensity, clinging to Lysander tighter. Lysander began to move his hips faster, tightening his grip on Kaidan's sweaty leg, and Kaidan's gasps dissolved into moans. Lysander felt himself riding to the edge, eyes locked with Kaidan's. He pounded into the man, whose moans melded into each other, becoming more and more frequent. As he grew closer and closer to climax, Lysander felt his control slipping. Tear were forming and falling in spite of himself as he gazed at Kaidan, who could only smile at him in return. "Kaidan..." He grunted, unable to finish. Kaidan somehow knew what the man meant to say because he smiled leaned up to place a kiss on the side of his mouth before letting his head fall back to the mattress, body rolling in rhythm to Lysander's and murmured, "Together."

The climax was unlike any Lysander had ever had in his life. His back arched, toes curled, and fingers dug into Kaidan's flesh. Kaidan babbled incoherently and convulsed beneath him. Lysander caught himself on shaky arms and felt raw. To say the word 'emotional' was colossal understatement. He felt as if he had had a layer of skin ripped from him, like the shell he'd hidden himself away in was gone. One emotion that was certainly prevalent was fear. Fear of rejection, fear of no longer being needed by this beautiful human being. Kaidan slowed his breathing and touched a hand to Lysander's cheek, which the man promptly  nuzzled against.

"Shepard-"

"Lysander."

Kaidan blinked twice, confusion written all over his exposed face. Lysander raised his tearful gaze to Kaidan's.

"For everyone else, it's Shepard... For you... It's Lysander."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, I DID IT!
> 
> It's been a while....
> 
> Tummy drama.
> 
> But that's all fixed now.
> 
> I tried to make this one as long as possible. I wasn't going to put the bumping uglies part in until the NEXT chapter, but the plot spiders told me the next chapter would be totally different, and have no room for it.... So yeah, here it is xD
> 
> I hope you liked it! <33


	10. Darkness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Citadel is under attack by Saren and his army of geth. To save the Citadel and the Council, Commander Lysander Shepard and the inhabitants of Normandy SV1 launch an attack to not only retake the Citadel and put humanity's foot in the door, but close the biggest, and most direct door to the heart of Citadel Space to the cold threat of the Reapers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -peers around a corner nervously-
> 
> So... Hi.

_“Is he… Dead?” Kaidan craned his neck to peer at Saren’s corpse. Lysander huffed and jerked his head at Wrex, “Make sure.” Wrex nodded wordlessly and leapt into the impromptu opening, landing gently, despite his size. Lysander watched the krogan pump three shots into the still turian’s head. Aside from the jerk of the force of the bullets, Saren made no attempt to move. Wrex glanced up at Lysander who nodded and activated his comm. At the same time, a deep rumble shook the floor, cracking the concrete and sending Lysander and Kaidan tumbling down to Wrex’s level._

_Lysander struggled to his feet, vaguely aware of Wrex hauling Kaidan up. “What was-?” Kaidan’s inquiry was interrupted by red bolts of electricity forming around Saren’s body. He struggled to maintain his footing and keep hold of his rifle as bright red lights stabbed at his vision. Saren’s body jerked and twitched as the bolts surged through it, elongating the limbs and finally reanimating the flesh._

_A mechanical monstrosity of a turian stood before them, the only words it uttered in a metallic voice:_ **“I AM SOVEREIGN, AND THIS STATION IS MINE!”** _Lysander cursed with feeling, and the battle was on._

* * *

 

_The images suddenly swirled, as if someone was stirring them, and Lysander was being shoved by the force of the Normandy’s inner explosions. He stumbled, chest heaving with anger at Jeff. “God damned cripple… Leaving me to save his stupid ass.” He hissed._

_Lysander hit the button to open the door to the CIC, causing any and all air to be sucked away. His mag boots automatically engaged and Lysander grit his teeth with impatience as he forced himself to walk through the debris and lifeless bodies to the cockpit._

_Something caught Lysander’s foot, causing him to stumble yet again. He turned to kick at whatever had him and choked when he was confronted with Engineer Charles Pressly’s stiff corpse, tunic sleeve caught on a jagged bit of floor jutting upward. Lysander slowly pulled away his foot, mind reflecting to the man’s face in other situations. He shook himself and made his way to Joker._

* * *

 

_Space. Void. Nothingness. Hissing. Hissing? Air… No air… It’s hot… Getting hotter. Too much heat! No air!_

Lysander felt an enormous pressure on his chest, he needed air… He needed to breathe. Why couldn’t he _breathe?_ He pushed at that pressure with every ounce of his dwindling strength.

_“Commander…!_ SHEPARD _-!” Joker’s voice resounded in his ears.  ‘It was entirely that stupid cripple’s fault’, he thought to himself. ‘When I get up, I’m gonna kick his hollow ass…’_

Lysander pushed and pushed at the pressure, willing himself to breathe until… Air.

Once again, push.

_AIR!_

Lysander pushed harder, fought for another breath…

“Something’s wrong… There! On the monitor! He’s reacting to outside stimuli… Showing an awareness of his surroundings…”

Another push, more air... And something else… Lights?

“Oh my god, Miranda… He’s waking up!”

Too much… Too much air…

Lysander began to pant in his efforts to slow his breathing. Everything swam in and out of focus as he became more and more conscious. He turned, making to get up from wherever he was… He knew he had to get up…

When a woman strode into view, a determined grimace painting her face. Lysander raised an arm, _‘Who the fuck?’_ He thought, the effort of thought process itself took half his minuscule strength, his arm began to falter. Lysander looked around wildly, his gaze falling on a bald man, blatant fear on his face. 

The woman spoke angrily, “Damn it, Wilson, he’s not ready yet! Give him the sedative!”

Sharp and dull pains began to invade his senses, pulling Lysander more and more into a wakeful state. He waved an arm which the woman took and spoke to him in the same brisk tone. “Shepard, don’t try to move, just lie still and try to stay calm.” The pain was getting worse as several muscles in  Lysander's body contorted and stretched. He barely heard the frantic assistant exclaim, “Heart rate climbing, brain activity is off the charts!” The woman half ran to the other side of the room as the terrified assistant continued rambling, and the monitors began to scream.

“Stats pushing to the red zone-it’s not _working_!” Lysander forced himself to watch the woman, who spun around and demanded another dose of this mystery ‘sedative’. The man fiddled with his console some, and Lysander felt his eyelids drop without his approval. He forced them back open, but felt his body beginning to betray him.

“Heart rate dropping… Stats falling back into normal range…” The man’s voice sounded far away, and Lysander’s control of his body failed. His head lolled back against the hard surface, and he could do little more than stare at the fading lights. The woman reappeared, face a mask of concern. The man’s voice was muffled, “That was close… We almost lost him…” Her face fell into a grimace as she spat, “I _told_ you your estimates were off. Run the numbers again.” Lysander’s vision darkened. The last thing he saw before darkness took him was two blue eyes, and an almost kind gaze.

* * *

 

Darkness. Encasing Lysander like a seamless sleeping bag. He internally grit his teeth, prepared to force himself to wake up again, but fate other plans.  “Wake up, Commander!” The first shock that shook the entire room was enough to propel Lysander’s mind to a wakeful state. The second shock, followed by the same brisk voice practically screaming at him did the rest.

Lysander felt his muscles twitch, toppling back into unconsciousness when the voice barked again. “Shepard! Do you hear me, get out of that bed _now_ , this facility is under attack!” Lysander pushed again, and was awarded with fluttering eyelids and a gradual awareness. Everything felt unbearably stiff, his limbs felt heavy and awkward. He groaned, and immediately regretted it, as a sharp pain stabbed through his jaw. Lysander heaved himself upward as the voice crooned, “Shepard, your scars aren’t healed yet, but I _need_ you to get moving, this facility is under attack! Lysander gracelessly pushed himself to his feet and nearly fell over as the ground shook beneath his feet.

He slowly surveyed the scene and drew a conclusion: shaky floors meant danger; danger meant the use of weapons, one pat down his body and scan of the room revealed no such luck. As if reading his thoughts, the voice directed him to armor and a Predator stashed within the locker. As soon as the armor clicked into place, Lysander felt the calm of deadly purpose seep through him… Cut short by the uncomfortable absence of ammo in his gun. “Fucking hell…” He raised his head to the voice and hissed, “This pistol doesn’t have a thermal clip!”

“It’s a _med-bay,_ we’ll get you-”

Fucking excuses… Lysander thought darkly.  He limped his way through several more rooms and more than several mechs. Lysander stumbled into a hallway as the woman’s voice began chirping at him again, guiding him through a labyrinth of hallways, all plastered with a yellow black logo. Every so often, Lysander would indirectly encounter a human; he figured they were the help, beating at the thick windows, screeching for assistance. Lysander had tried breaking one window, but quickly realized that if a missile from an Atlas mech wouldn’t penetrate the windows, nothing would. He conserved his ammo and sprinted past them.

* * *

 

Lysander tore into an open room, but skidded to a halt when a triumphant shout sounded from his left. A young black soldier was putting several mechs out of their misery by hoisting them into the air with a Pull and picking them off in midair. The fluid motion of it all was nearly poetic. More mechs piled in through an open door, and the man ducked with a curse. His eyes bulged when Lysander sidled up beside him. “Shepard? Man, things must be bad if Miranda’s got you up and around…” Lysander picked the man called Jacob Taylor’s brain a bit more before being interrupted by a panicked man shrieking into Jacob’s ear.

 Lysander listened to Jacob speak with a man named Wilson and had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He gauged Taylor’s expression, almost certain of what would happen next.

“Roger that, Wilson. Stay on this frequency!” Taylor turned back to face Lysander and indicated they would be going to collect this Wilson. Lysander gnawed at the inside of his mouth in irritation as he followed Taylor’s brisk footsteps out. Paddling about to find stragglers was a ridiculous waste of time, but Lysander had no idea where he was or how he could navigate to safety instead of more rooms full of the glitched mechs. Although it ate way at him, Lysander silently followed the man out.

The two men wadded through a handful of rooms and more bodies, all the while, listening to Wilson whine about an injury. “Fucking wimp…” Lysander grumbled. “Something up, Commander?” Taylor seemed genuinely curious. Lysander shook his head briskly, Predator aimed at the floor, “Nothing.”

They ran to another room, Taylor raising his omni-tool to bypass when it flew open, revealing several armed mechs. Lysander dove for cover as Taylor shouted, “Dammit, Wilson! This room is _crawling_ with mechs!”

Wilson shot back indignantly, “The whole _station_ is crawling with mechs-I’m doing the best I can!” Lysander hummed to himself as he leaned around a cluster of poles and fired two rounds into the nearest mech’s faceplate, toppling it. He didn’t care one way or the other, he was getting himself out alone if need be. Wilson’s frightened voice chirped again, “Oh god… They found me!” Taylor attempted to calm the man, calling him back to order. “Wilson, find us another route out! _Preferably_ , one that doesn’t lead us _straight_ into an enemy squad!”

Wilson snapped, “JUST keep moving toward the control room! Don’t get pinned down, I’ll see what I can do…” Something about Wilson’s last statement tugged at Lysander’s peaceful state. Mowing down mechs had given him purpose, means to finish and achieve the end: getting the hell off the station. Having a purpose tickled Lysander pink, but something Wilson seemed off-color.

They bolted to the control room, the doors flying open to reveal a pale, bald man, sitting against a rail, clutching his leg. One look at the man’s gray face set a gear in motion in Lysander’s head. “Ahh! Shepard! Down here!” He rasped. “Bastards got me in the leg!” Lysander was transfixed, and spoke without thinking, “You were there the first time I came to!”

Wilson’s eyes narrowed, “Y-Yeah… That was me-urgh! How bout we talk about this AFTER we fix my leg?” Lysander nodded, feeling monumentally stupid. Jacob was gesturing to a medi-gel depot mounted to the wall. Lysander retrieved and administered the salve. The man slowly stumbled to his feet, color already returning to his face. “Thanks, Shepard… Never thought you’d save _my_ life… Guess that makes us even now.” He turned to Jacob, “I thought maybe I could shut down the security mechs, but whoever did this fried the entire system.” Jacob shook his head in exasperation.

“We didn’t ask what you were doing down here, why do you even _have_ security mech clearance? You run the bio-room.”

Lysander fought the wild urge to giggle. The man was a turn coat, little doubt about it. An extremely unprofessional turn coat, but a turn coat nonetheless. One glance at Taylor displayed a bit of suspicion, but little else. “Weren’t you _listening_?” Wilson hissed, “I came to try and fix it! Besides, I was SHOT!”

Lysander shook his head, waving a hand, “I don’t care who set up whom! Those mechs are shooting at _everyone_ , we can sort this shit out later!” Taylor nodded, expression earnest. “We need to find Miranda first, we can’t just leave her behind-”

“Forget about Miranda!” Wilson interjected. “She was in D wing, mechs were all over the sector, there’s no way she survived!”

Jacob scoffed, “A bunch of mechs won’t drop Miranda, and she’s alive.”

Wilson’s eyes began to dart from one man to the other, sweat beading at his forehead. Lysander doubted Taylor noticed, he didn’t seem the type. “Fine!” Wilson yelped, “Well then where is she? Why haven’t we heard from her? The way I see it, she’s dead, or she’s a traitor!”

Lysander bit his tongue to keep a grin from slithering over his face. No doubts now, Wilson practically had a neon sign over his head IT WAS ME! IT WAS ME! A crazed chuckle escaped Lysander’s mouth as he pictured the scene; he blinked himself back to reality, and was relieved his temporary insanity had gone unnoticed. The argument was getting them nowhere. “I haven’t known her long enough to trust her.” Lysander muttered with a shrug. Jacob shook his head, “This project was Miranda’s _baby_. No way would she do anything to sabotage it.”

Wilson and Taylor’s bickering was cut short by the doors opening on the far side of the room, and the appearance of several mechs. As Lysander and Jacob scrambled for cover, Wilson activated his omni-tool and let loose an Overload. Lysander opened his mouth to tell the man he missed, but was cut off when the canisters in front of them exploded, taking the mechs out with them. Wilson turned with a triumphant grin and waved them forward. “Let’s get a move on.” Lysander moved to follow, but Jacob hung back.

“Shepard… If I tell you who we work for… Will you trust me?” Lysander wanted to beat the man with the butt of his gun. Now was so not the time for the trust fall. Wilson seemed to concur, “Now’s… Really not the time for that, Jacob.”

Taylor was adamant. “We won’t make it if he’s expecting a shot in the back.” Wilson shook his head, arms folded, a silent affirmative. Jacob turned back to Lysander apprehensively, “The Lazarus Project… The program that rebuilt you… Was funded and controlled by Cerberus.” Lysander had remembered the logos from what felt like a lifetime ago. Cerberus, the anti-anything-with-scales organization, pro-human terrorist cell. Perhaps seeing the anger clouding his expression, Jacob continued. “The Alliance declared you dead… Cerberus spent a fortune to bring you back….” When Lysander’s expression remained, Jacob pressed on. “Look… I’d be suspicious too, but right now we need to work together. When this is over , I’ll take you to the Illusive Man, kinda the boss.” Lysander internally disagreed. He could overpower the both of them, now that he knew where the escape shuttles were, and get fuck out of Dodge.

But…

His curiosity was perked. He was also dying to see the conclusion of whatever Wilson was planning. He pulled a face and spat, “I don’t give a fuck either way, and he’d just better be ready to answer my questions. _All_ of them.”

Jacob opened his mouth to respond, but Lysander turned and stalked to the exit.

* * *

 

After running down flights of steps and fighting through more mechs, they reached the shuttle bay. Wilson charged ahead, fiddling with the door controls. “C’mon, through here,” he wheezed. “We’re almost at the-Miranda?” The door opened to reveal a statuesque brunette with a curvy body and beautiful face. The face in question pinched in anger once she laid eyes on Wilson, who sputtered, “But you’re supposed to be-” A single shot to the chest sent him sprawling, his sentence left forever unfinished. “Dead?” She sang.

Jacob came sprinting up the hallway, “What the hell are you _doing_?” Miranda noncommittally stowed her weapon and faced Lysander, who had his Predator trained to her nose. “My job,” She said, not sparing the man a glance. “Wilson betrayed us all.” Lysander lowered his gun, willing himself to relax. “Yeah… I had a feeling he was waiting for a chance to shoot me.” Miranda seemed to approve, she nodded, “Good instincts. Some are far too trusting to ever see betrayal coming.” Lysander had a feeling she was referring to Jacob, who looked ill.

“Come on, then. Let’s grab the shuttle and get out of here. My boss wants to talk to you.” Lysander decided to poke at the obvious mask the woman had in place. “The Illusive Man, correct? Seeing as how you work for Cerberus.” His childish wish fell short as Miranda’s expression held as she admonished Jacob. “Ah, Jacob. Your conscience always seems to get the best of you.”

Jacob held firm, “Lying to the Commander isn’t the best way to get him to join our cause.”

Miranda turned back to Lysander. “Well while the rest of the laundry is out to dry, anything else you wish to know?”  Lysander thought back to the thousands of questions running through his mind. Kaidan’s face surfaced more times than he was comfortable with. Steeling himself, Lysander shook his head, “I’ve had enough of this station to last a lifetime.”

“Two in your case.” Miranda purred. “Come on.”

With that, the three of them stepped over Wilson’s body and departed the station, distant thundering booms and scattered screams resonating behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah did it, Forrest!


	11. Pure Nothingness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysander Shepard is back from the dead. The Collectors are abducting humans, the Council doesn't want to be seen helping in a 'human' conflict, so it falls to the unlucky undead Spectre. Reuniting with Kaidan didn't have the effect Lysander had hoped, the love of his life has rejected him. Will Lysander continue his rise to reconnecting with his compassion, or will old habits prove too difficult to break?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiiiiii.....
> 
> Two years, REALLY?! Good golly....
> 
> Sooooooo much has happened! I have moved more than three times, went through some rough patches
> 
> but here I am! Rippin' and ready to go!
> 
> I wrote most of this over the course of the two years I was away in my notebook, but after reading through
> 
> I found I didn't really like what I had written! Urgh... Well anyways, I'm back! Hope you enjoy what I've got!

  
“Well, I’m not working  _for_  Cerberus,  _they’re_  working for me.” Lysander Shepard fumed as he quickly ducked behind a storage crate to avoid a set of Incendiary rounds from connecting with his body again. “I just find it odd that they’ve given so much by way of resources for free, Shepard.” Tali, bless her exo-suit encased soul, was dancing on his last nerve, he was thoroughly regretting bringing her along with him and Zaeed on this latest mission.

The damned Eclipse mercs weren’t doing much for his sour mood either, not that much had. His mood had been especially poor after his encounter on Horizon with Kaidan, who had regarded him almost like a leper and broke things off.

Lysander had told himself that Kaidan had had far too much control over his life as it was, Lysander had found himself doing things differently, feeling emotions he hadn’t let himself feel, none of that did him any good. The objective is to see the mission done, not run around and wipe everyone’s fucking tears.  Being a free agent would make him feel better. But…why didn’t he feel better? He was snapped back to reality as an Eclipse Heavy sent a rocket flying inches past Zaeed’s head. Lysander couldn’t see her mouth, but he knew Tali was gearing up dig into him a bit more. Unable to tolerate it any further, he stood and threw aside his overheated Avenger.

Lysander turned and looked at the asari Heavy, something in his eyes gave her pause enough to hesitate for just a moment. He took advantage of that moment by Charging at her, slamming her into her body with such force, she and her comrades were sent flying. The mercs’ bodies collided with the smooth walls with sickening cracks and fell to the floor with meaty thuds, appendages jutting at odds angles.

He stretched, cracking his neck as he heard Tali’s hushed, “Keelah…” And Zaeed’s appreciative whistle from behind him, taking in the damage. Lysander favored Zaeed; he found excuses to take him along on almost every mission he’d gone on, not that the old merc had any complaints. “Fuckin’ hell, Shepard! Remind me to stay on your goddamned good side, yeah?” Lysander grunted and took his rifle from Tali’s silent hands. They made their way through the frustratingly large room and had almost reached the next catwalk when a soft thud from behind a closed door caught Lysander’s attention. He wordlessly motioned for the other two to follow and silently disabled the lock before being confronted with a pistol to his face.

A terrified looking salarian whipped the gun from Lysander to Tali and screeched, “Stay back! I’ll do it! I’m warning y-” He was cut off by a sharp punch full in the face by Lysander, who watched the feeble salarian crumble to the ground. Zaeed pointed his gun at another salarian who ran to the fallen’s side and held him close. “Please, he’s my brother! I just want to make sure he’s alright!” Tali straightened and holstered her gun. “Shepard.” Lysander stowed his weapon and folded his arms, “Whatever.” Tali moved forward to treat the fallen salarian, Lysander drifted over to a headless merc, clutching a data tablet. He read through the information, mostly bullshit about Nassana Dantius and her revolutionary ideals as Tali and Zaeed questioned the salarians.

Once everyone was calm and on their feet, the salarians turned and thanked Lysander, the younger one added, “Make sure you tell the assassin to aim for her head, because she doesn’t have a heart!” Lysander snorted and watched the group leave. “Was that really necessary, Shepard? You almost killed him!” Tali’s arms were folded, discontent roiling off of her in waves. Lysander shrugged and pulled out his Avenger, “Let’s get back to it, shall we?”

Lysander forced his heavy limbs out of the shuttle and on to the hard floor of the Normandy’s shuttle bay. He always hated fighting krogans, they never went down very easily. He jerked his helmet off his head and ran gloved hand over his cropped head of hair as Garrus climbed out and stood next to him. “Hell of a day, eh, Shepard?” Lysander cracked a grin and knocked his fist against Garrus’. Jack silently disembarked and walked past them to the elevator. “You’re welcome.” Lysander called as she stepped into the lift. He watched the muscles in her back clench as she used one hand to give him the finger, and the other to punch the button, moving the elevator to the next floor.

“She’ll come around to thanking you, Shepard. It’ll take some time, but it’ll happen.” Garrus sighed and moved to the elevator with Lysander, they took it up to the deck, to where the weapons were stored for god knows what reason. “Y’know, I will never understand why and who in Cerberus thought it would be a good idea to keep the armory on the deck and  _not_  the shuttle bay.” Garrus complained, not that Lysander disagreed. “Yeah, someone in Cerberus better have lost a fucking job for this shit.” Lysander said, tossing his grenade launcher on one of the platforms. They left the armory to the silent deck, all of its usual inhabitants slept below in the crew’s quarters.

Garrus called out to Joker, ever-present at the helm, who waved in response. Garrus was another Lysander couldn’t bring himself to dislike if he’d tried. He was more or less the same, mission must always come first, and casualties are unavoidable. Garrus didn’t waste time bitching about the how, he simply got down to business when the time came and never looked back. They had grown especially close when Lysander had helped exact revenge on a cowardly turian going by Sidonis, who had betrayed Garrus of all people, and left their squad for dead. Garrus had tracked Sidonis down through the idiot lay about Harkin, ex-C-sec turned information broker of sorts. Lysander remembered watching the fire in Garrus’ eyes as they mowed their way through mechs and mercs to Harkin, and how sweet it had been to finally put Sidonis down like the weakling he was. Garrus had become much more sociable after that, and Lysander enjoyed having a kindred spirit on the ship that wasn’t obsessed with ‘finding another way’ like Taylor and Tali.

The frustratingly slow lift finally stopped at the crew deck, and both Lysander and Garrus were surprised to hear a loud clatter come from Miranda’s office. They both jumped when Joker’s concerned voice came from above, “Hey, Commander, Jack and Miranda are having a bit of a…disagreement in the CO’s office. Can you go stop them before they tear a hole in my ship?” Lysander sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll handle it.” He took a step in the direction of the office when Joker quickly responded, “Take pictures!” Garrus chuckled and clapped Lysander’s shoulder. “Do you think you’ll need back up with this?” Lysander smiled and shook his head, “I’ll make it somehow, see you tomorrow, Garrus.” The turian nodded and walked off to the main battery.

Lysander sighed again and stormed off to Miranda’s office, the doors flew open and an office chair went sailing past Miranda to bounce off the wall behind her. “Touch me, and I’ll smear the walls with you, you BITCH!” Jack was beet-red in the face, her beautiful face contorted with rage, whereas Miranda’s lovely face remained deadpan, almost smug. Lysander sighed heavily, yearning for his bed, “ENOUGH! Stand down,  _both_  of you!” He moved toward the two women to diffuse the situation.

The elevator doors sighed open and a blissful silence washed over Lysander as he took a deep breath and stepped off the lift and into his cabin. He kicked off his boots and pressed his sore feet against the cool metal, clicking on the sound system to his preferred opera setting.

 Lysander stripped as he walked to his shower, humming along with the matriarch’s dulcet tones, her sweet melody was accompanied by the thrumming descant of wind instruments. He moved a hand to the beat and closed his eyes as the hot water cascaded down his back and steam filled the room. The idyllic peace was interrupted by the door to the bathroom hissing open. Lysander frowned and turned to find Zaeed standing in the doorway wearing nothing but his shit-eating grin.

“I don’t remember inviting you, Masani.” Zaeed’s grin broadened and he stepped into the room, allowing the door to shut behind him. “Oh? That’s not what you said when I came here last night.” He put a meaty hand on a hip, one foot sliding behind the other in an arrogant pose, showcasing his impressive manhood. “No, no, I  _distinctly_  recall your words sounding less like words, honestly.” Lysander fought to keep a grin from spreading on his face and folded his arms. “I don’t remember it happening like that.” Zaeed tapped his chin, smile intact, “No? Well then, how’s about I jog your memory?”

With that, Zaeed closed the distance between the two and shoved Lysander hard into the unyielding wall behind them. The merc grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him so hard, Lysander had to open his mouth or chip a tooth. Zaeed explored his mouth with a vindictive passion, while maintaining his death grip on the back of Lysander’s head. Lysander’s resolve to play hard to get broke, and he found himself making small eager noises as the other man wriggled his way between his legs, pushing their poles together.

Zaeed broke their heated kiss and staggered Lysander with sharp blow to the head. The younger man skidded on the wet floor, and the merc took the opportunity to seize him by the arm and throw him out of the bathroom. The door barely opened in time for Lysander to fall against his desk, knocking his picture of Kaidan to the floor. Zaeed was on him like a wild animal, lifting him to sit on the edge of his desk, his feet kicking in open air. Lysander groaned as Zaeed’s mouth latched on to his neck, gnawing at him like a dog with a bone. Zaeed pushed Lysander back until his upper back hit his prized model ship collection display case, and worried a long, wet line down Lysander’s body, to the base of his near painful erection.

Lysander sighed and arched his back as the other man took his entire length into his hot mouth over and over, ever so slowly. Zaeed took him into his mouth again, and nibbled at the tip of him when he pulled back. Lysander could feel the other man’s eyes on him, willing him to meet his gaze, which he promptly did. The wild and possessive look in Zaeed’s eyes, along with his unceasing suckling brought Lysander closer and closer to his release. He was teetering on the edge when Zaeed pulled him out of his mouth and stood. The abrupt stop forced a strangled cry from Lysander, and brought a triumphant grin to Zaeed’s scarred face. “You wanna come, do ya?” Lysander frowned and sighed heavily. Zaeed slid into Lysander’s seat and threw a leg on his desk. “You know what to do…  _Commander_.” Lysander slid to the floor in front of him and went to work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did NOT care for Mass Effect 2... Does it show? 
> 
> xD

**Author's Note:**

> -peeks from behind a wall- 
> 
> Soo.....Didja like it?  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> -hides-


End file.
